Between the Shadow and the Soul
by missrebecca
Summary: Hermione and Draco become involved in a doomed romance. Years after it ends, they get a surprise at the reading of Lucius Malfoy's will. ORIGINALLY BY BEDELIA.
1. Small Talk

__**PLEASE READ!**

**This story was originally published by Bedelia, the first nine chapters are entirely her work. Unfortunately, she is unable to continue the story and offered it up for adoption. I LOVE this story and jumped at the chance. **

**Chapter 10 onwards are my words, working from the plan that Bedelia gave me, and having her read each chapter before it's posted.**

**I really hope you continue to enjoy this.**

* * *

_"I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,  
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.  
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
in secret, between the shadow and the soul."_

_- Pablo Neruda_

**Chapter One: Small Talk**

_19 September 2002_

Sighing, Hermione rolled over in bed. No matter what position she tried, lumps riddled her mattress and her sheets chafed like sandpaper. Neither side of the pillow provided the soothing coolness she sought. Forget elusive; sleep was _impossible_. She should have taken Luna and Neville up on their offer of going out instead of putting them off until the next day. Spending a peaceful evening reading at home and going to bed early to catch up on much-needed slumber wasn't turning out as she'd imagined.

The sensible thing would be to take some Dreamless Sleep Potion or send an owl to her friends, but she hadn't refused Ron to go around being sensible. Which meant she certainly shouldn't sit at home with insomnia on her birthday, for heaven's sake. Groaning, she threw her blankets back and stormed to her wardrobe. After yanking on trousers, shoes, and a cloak, she Apparated to Diagon Alley with a resounding crack.

The Leaky Cauldron was almost empty. A few tipsy patrons lurked in corners, but they paid Hermione no mind as she entered the pub. Tom glanced up from wiping the bar with a damp rag to give her a curt nod.

A man with familiar platinum blond hair sat at the bar, bent over a tumbler of Firewhisky. After a brief internal debate, Hermione decided to join him. The war was long over. Surely they could find it within themselves to talk like any other former classmates. She'd spoken up in his favour at his trial, after all. It was about time they buried the resentment and loathing of their childhood and started behaving like civilised adults.

"Hello, Malfoy," she said with more confidence than she felt as she perched on the creaky, wobbling chair to his left.

"Granger." He raised an eyebrow at her as if to ask what she thought she was doing, but she just shrugged and ordered a Firewhisky of her own.

"How have you been?" she said.

The eyebrow rose higher. "I've been well."

Instead of returning the question, he returned to his drink and traced a pale finger along a crack in the dark wood of the bar.

"Hmm." Hermione scrambled for something else to say. She refused to allow her attempt at polite conversation to descend into awkward silence so soon. "Think it's going to rain?"

Draco laughed. "Are you actually so starved for company that you're sitting here and trying to talk to me about the _weather_?"

"I guess I am. Is that a problem?"

He cocked his head to one side and studied her, as if searching for the answer on her face. "I suppose not. Where are Potter and the Weasel? Shouldn't they be tagging along after you, scowling at me and protecting your questionable virtue?"

Flinching, she downed the rest of her drink. It stung her throat, roughening her voice. "Harry is on his honeymoon at the moment."

To her relief, he didn't mention her omission of Ron. Turning his attention towards the entrance to Muggle London, he scoffed. A few women who had been in the year below them at Hogwarts — Hufflepuffs, Hermione thought — slipped through the door.

"Oh, that's just brilliant," Draco said. "Hope you're adept at Noise Cancelling Charms. If not, your ears are going to start bleeding in about an hour."

"Why?"

"See that ginger girl? The one who just came in? Well, when she gets a few pints in her, she starts thinking she's one of the Weird Sisters. I swear, even a banshee would cringe at the sounds she makes."

"Oh, come on. She can't be _that_ bad."

"Care to bet on that?"

"That depends." She narrowed her eyes. "What do you get if you win?"

"Hmm. I reckon your first-born child should do."

She laughed. "Oh, please. Like you'd want _my_ first-born. If I tried to pay up, you'd shout at me for soiling your hands with my half-blood spawn."

"Well, you're famous. Think of the price it'd fetch in Knockturn Alley."

"Okay, hold on there, Rumplestiltskin. There will be no pawning my future children in Knockturn Alley or anywhere else."

"_Rumplewhatskin_?"

"Muggle fairy tale. Never mind. The point is: your price is far too steep for a bet about singing."

"You haven't heard her yet." With a lopsided half-smile, he motioned for Tom and ordered a bottle of Ogden's Finest. "All right, then. A drinking game. You have to do one shot for every person who leaves because of her."

"Deal."

As it turned out, Draco hadn't been exaggerating. The instant the woman's voice started slurring, she sauntered over to the large wireless set in the corner and began singing along with every song she knew (and even a few she didn't). By the time she rested her head on a table and fell asleep — to the apparent relief of everyone, including her friends — Hermione had to drink four shots.

"Okay," she said, swaying on her chair as a pleasant, warm sort of fuzziness blanketed her mind. "Your turn." Craning her neck, she looked around the pub. To her delight, one of her former dorm-mates had entered whilst she was preoccupied with the Singing Wonder. "I bet you can't successfully chat up Parvati."

"Seriously?"

"Mhm. If she doesn't proposition you in some way or tell you to fire-call her within fifteen minutes, you have to do as many shots as I did."

"Hardly seems fair. We fought on opposite sides of a war. She's not exactly going to be inclined to shag me, is she?"

"Bottling out?"

He let out an inelegant snort of laughter that was so unlike his usual dark chuckle, Hermione wasn't sure it really came from him.

"What's next?" he said. "Are you going to dare me to talk to her?"

"Is that what it'll take to give you a dose of courage?"

Grinning, he took a swig of Firewhisky straight from the bottle. "No. I've plenty of liquid courage on hand. Watch and learn, Granger."

She watched, but all she learnt was that Draco's cheeks flushed when he was frustrated. Or perhaps it was the intoxication; she couldn't tell. Either way, Parvati wasn't having it. At the seventeen minute mark, Hermione caught his attention and tapped her finger against her watch. Draco sulked his way back to her side.

"I feel a bit bad about subjecting Parvati to that," she said with a giggle once he'd downed his required four shots. "I'll have to send her an apology note, even if it _was_ funny to watch."

"Could you even hear what I said?"

"No, but I knew she wouldn't be interested."

"How?"

"She's a lesbian."

The funny, snorting laugh made another appearance. "You little cheat." Pausing, he stretched his arms overhead until his back popped. "So, is there trouble in paradise, then? Is that why you're here, getting pissed with me? Don't think I didn't notice when you dodged the Weasley question." Pouring another two glasses of Firewhisky, he placed one in front of her. Hermione accepted the drink in spite of the smug aura that billowed from him and threatened to choke her with irritation.

"He wants to get married," she said. "I don't."

"Ever? I never figured you for the type to live in sin." His gaze moved over her in a way that she would have described as "appraising" if it had come from almost anyone other than Draco Malfoy.

"I want to get married _eventually_, just not right this second. I think we're still too young. I want to get established in my career first — maybe travel a bit."

"And he wants you to forget about all of that and start popping out more babies than he can afford?"

Shaking her head, she kicked the leg of his barstool. "_Really_, Malfoy. He isn't poor now, and you know it. But yes, he would like to start a family very soon." Recalling the explosive fight that ended their relationship made her mouth twist into a grimace. "Yesterday would be preferable to him, actually."

Draco's expression transformed from a not entirely unpleasant smirk to a bitter frown. One more drink, and alcohol made his speech thick and slow. "He and my parents have that in common," he said.

It was her turn to be smug. "Eager for grandbabies, are they?"

"You don't know the half of it."

"Oh?"

"Mm. If I don't settle down soon, it's an arranged marriage for me."

"An arranged marriage? Are you _serious_? Of all the antiquated, absurd traditions...ugh. That's horrible! You should be free to marry whoever you like, or marry no one, if that's what suits you."

He chuckled. "Getting my inheritance suits me, so I'll go along with their plans. That includes marrying the right sort of girl, taking over the family business, and having at least one male heir. They'd rather I get that last part out of the way as soon as possible, just to be sure it's done."

Stunned, Hermione let out a long sigh. How could he be so nonchalant? His sudden rigid posture and the clenching of his jaw was proof that he was about as ready for marriage as she was. Even more surprising was the pity churning in her stomach. She wanted to march up to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy and lecture them on the importance of letting their son make his own decisions.

Yeah, _that _would go over well.

"Your life shouldn't be planned out for you," she said, punctuating her statement with a jab of his shoulder. "You should be able to do something unexpected, like work as a painter or marry a half-blood you love madly."

"You're lecturing me about spontaneity? When was the last time _you _did something unexpected?"

"Well, I turned down Ron's marriage proposal last week. That seemed to shock quite a few people."

"Pfft. I doubt it shocked anyone who realises that he doesn't deserve you."

Hermione stared at him as though he'd claimed Gregory Goyle was a genius. "Now _that _is unexpected. Did you just pay me a backhanded compliment?"

"Well, I have been drinking quite a lot." Pausing, he wiped a water spot from the rim of his half-empty glass. "Don't expect it to happen again."

"Oh, of course not not. Hmm, so that doesn't count as spontaneous?"

"More like finally coming to your senses."

"It was horrible, actually. I felt so bad, but he_ knew_ I wasn't ready for—"

"Losing interest..."

"Oh, hush up. Wait. I know. I am sitting in the Leaky Cauldron on my 23rd birthday, having a reasonably civil conversation with Draco Malfoy. In my pyjamas, no less. You have to admit _that _is unexpected."

"Hardly. It was only a matter of time before you tried to chat me up."

"Yes, it's a wonder I didn't swoon at the sneering and name-calling years ago."

Draco's responding chuckle cut off as comprehension dawned on his face. "Wait," he said, his gaze flickering down to her clothes. "Pyjamas?"

Casting a furtive glance around the pub, she opened her cloak just wide enough to let him see. Draco let out a loud, genuine laugh when he saw her nightshirt. Whimsical penguins in purple stocking caps and ice skates decorated the baby blue cotton.

"I was trying to sleep when I got the idea to come here," she said. "I wasn't really expecting to interact with anyone."

"Okay, I will grant you that I didn't expect the pyjamas. It would have been more shocking if it involved something a bit more pleasing to the eye, though." Taking her empty glass, he let his fingers linger on hers. "That horrible shirt is exactly the type of thing I'd expect you to wear to bed."

"I was sleeping _alone_, you prat. Comfort was the goal, not seduction."

Draco's voice became a low, sensual rumble that she had to lean in to hear. "Tsk. Sleeping alone on your birthday. What a horrible waste. Perhaps you should remedy that."

"What is _that _supposed to mean?"

To her dismay, her body's reaction to his words was not entirely negative. No, judging by the familiar clenching in her abdomen, she rather _liked _his insinuations.

_It's the alcohol_, she thought. _Firewhisky goggles_.

"What do you think it's supposed to mean?" he said.

For lack of an adequate response, she remained silent. As he stood up, he chucked a few Sickles onto the bar to pay his tab.

"Well, I should probably head home. Later, Granger. Happy birthday." Leaning down as if to kiss her cheek, he placed his lips next to her ear.

"Meet me outside in five minutes," he whispered. His warm breath smelt of Firewhisky and mint. Hermione couldn't recall him ever standing so close to her before. She wasn't sure she had ever even touched him prior to that evening — aside from the slap in their third year, of course. As he moved his face along her jaw, every tiny exhale from his mouth ghosted over her skin.

With a wink, he backed up and sauntered out of the pub.

As she watched the seconds tick by, Hermione mulled over everything she knew about Draco. He was a Death Eater. He hated her and had once wanted to exterminate her for no other reason than the crime of being born to the wrong sort of parents. He'd tried to kill Dumbledore. These thoughts should have been sufficient to put a damper on any stirrings of passion, but her traitorous mind drifted to Harry's retelling of the events on the Astronomy Tower. Draco wasn't ever really going to go through with it. He was just a scared kid, in over his head. And at Malfoy Manor — he hadn't wanted her to die then, had he? He'd been so reluctant to identify her, Harry, and Ron.

And hadn't she intended to put their past behind them when she chose to approach him? Start fresh?

_This line of thought is stupid and bound to land me in a heap of trouble_, she thought. _Definitely not being sensible_ now.

Before she could stop herself, she stood up and walked outside. When she was in a clearer frame of mind and rightly horrified by her actions, she could rationalise her behaviour by blaming the alcohol.

The crisp night air woke her up after the stale, smoky atmosphere inside the Leaky Cauldron. Water from a recent rainfall slicked the cobbled surface of Diagon Alley and shimmered in the dim yellow light of the streetlamps. She caught a glimpse of Draco's bright hair just a few metres from the pub. Belatedly, she wondered if she should be wary of him. He could have been setting her up for some sort of trick.

She didn't get a chance to finish her cautious thoughts. All of a sudden he shot her a predatory smirk and stalked forward, pulling her body against his.

"What the hell?" she said in a breathy voice. "What are you doing?"

"Something unexpected."


	2. Enemies with Benefits

**Chapter Two: Enemies with Benefits**

_20 September 2002_

They landed in his dining room, just as the clock struck midnight and announced the end of Hermione's birthday. Instead of scolding him for the surprise side-along Apparition, she wobbled on her feet and took a few steps back. The vase full of roses on the table toppled over, shattering on the marble floor.

"Sorry," she said. "Reparo."

The crystal fused back together. Leaning down, she used her wand to siphon up the spilt water and clear away the fallen rose petals.

"Don't worry about it."

"Right. Um. What are we doing?"

"Didn't I already answer this question?"

"Yeah, but we've been drinking, and—"

"And what?" He grinned. "What do you _think_ is going to happen here?"

She rolled her eyes. "Absolutely nothing if you keep up that smug tone."

"When have you ever heard me use any other tone?"

"Hmm. Good point." Placing even more distance between them, she shook her head. "Maybe I should just go, before we do anything we'll regret tomorrow."

_No_. The word echoed through Draco's mind, building to a shout. She didn't get to have an attack of morals and run away. He was the one dirtying himself by even speaking to her.

Sleeping with the Wizarding World's most famous Mudblood was the polar opposite of what his parents wanted for him, and he intended to go through with it. At heart, he was still the boy who longed to make his parents proud, but he resented the pressure they were already putting on him to find a proper bride. He was only twenty-two, for Circe's sake. Allowing Hermione to thwart his attempt to give a two-fingered salute to this marriage nonsense was out of the question.

Words seemed unlikely to convince her, so he put his mouth to a better use. Settling his hands her waist, he covered her lips with his own. He kept the kiss slow, gentle, coaxing her into responding. Instead of making a speech to state his case – a tactic he didn't think would help at_all_ – he convinced her by grasping her chin between his thumb and forefinger, urging her to open her mouth.

When he brushed his fingers against the side of her breast, she made no objection. Rather, she let out a pleased sigh and leant into the touch. It wasn't until he led her through the living room, towards the back of the flat that she stopped him.

Narrowing her eyes, she glared at the two intricate tapestries that hung on his wall – the ones depicting the Black and Malfoy family trees. Before he could attempt to ply her with more kisses, she shoved him onto the sofa. In full view of the evidence of his pure blood, she straddled his legs and tugged at the fastenings of his robes.

Well, well. Perhaps she was going for a two-fingered salute of her own.

Clothing was thrown aside, knocking into lamps and framed photographs. Feeling her body move over his in deliciously forbidden ways was almost therapeutic. The moment her bare skin slid against his, they weren't Granger and Malfoy. They weren't two people who were forced to grow up too soon and fight a war they didn't start. They weren't enemies. They were just a man and a woman, free to do whatever they wanted, if only for a night.

It was like fucking away the demons of his past.

-oOo-

The spot next to him on the bed was empty, and Draco wasn't sure how he felt about that. He was torn between relief that he didn't have to face Hermione's inevitable prudish horror at what she had done and annoyance that she wasn't there to assist him in relieving his morning erection.

That she'd fallen into bed with him at all was something of a shock. He knew she didn't like him, but he wasn't particularly bothered by this. The feeling was mutual. One night of mindless sex couldn't wipe away over a decade of animosity.

Still, he found himself hoping he could convince her to repeat the experience in the light of day, without the haze of alcohol. The idea of being able to bend her over his dining room table or desk or any number of surfaces in the flat whenever he was frustrated with the speed at which his future hurtled towards him was alluring. If he could rely on anyone to keep things casual – just sex, no emotions – it was her. She didn't want to marry him any more than he wanted to marry her.

After all, who better than two former enemies to enter into such an arrangement? They couldn't possibly fall in love.

With that thought in mind, he crawled out of bed and pulled on a pair of pyjama trousers. As he shuffled towards the kitchen, he began to plot. Allowing her a few days to calm down before sending her a note would be wise. Or maybe he would casually bump into her at the Ministry sometime next week. No, that was no good. Too many of her friends worked there. Maybe—

His inner debate came to a screeching halt. Hermione was still in his flat, standing in the living room. Wearing his dressing gown. And nothing else, from the look of it. The sun shone through the window to her right, rendering the flimsy material almost translucent. A pile of breakfast foods sat on a nearby table, undoubtedly provided by his house-elf, Dippy. Nibbling on a crumpet, Hermione studied the tapestry that depicted the Malfoy family tree.

Her head tilted to one side, revealing a long, lightly freckled expanse of neck that begged to be kissed. Well, no time like the present to start luring her back to his bed.

Draco snaked his arms around the unsuspecting witch from behind. At first, she stiffened in surprise, but when he slipped his hands into the dressing gown to cup her breasts, he felt her relax into his embrace. He grinned against her throat, sliding one hand over her belly and between her thighs.

"Did you know that particular scorch mark is Weasley's grandmother?" he said, nodding towards the spot on the Black tapestry that had formerly been occupied by Cedrella Weasley, nee Black.

"I d-did." Her voice trembled as his fingers did their best to distract her. "I've seen the Black family tree before."

"Really?" Draco spun her around and pressed his hips against hers, making her gasp.

"Yeah. In the home of that scorch mark." She pointed over her shoulder at the place where Sirius Black's name used to be.

"Ah, of course. I should've known."

Untying the loose knot that held the dressing gown in place, he slid the slinky fabric down her arms and let it flutter to the floor. As he dragged his lips along her shoulder, she laced her fingers through his hair and whispered something unintelligible. He kissed his way down to her chest, delighting in her encouraging moans.

"Malfoy?"

Merlin's balls. She wanted to talk _now_?

"Mm?"

"Am I the first Muggle-born you've slept with?"

"Yes."

In Draco's perfect world, she would leave it at that and let him get on with fucking her against the wall.

"Hmm," she said, proving, once again, that he didn't live in his ideal world. "I was just revelling the fact that you did all of those things to me in the same room as your two very pureblood family trees."

Draco chuckled. He could practically hear her thinking, "Suck on _that_, Bellatrix."

"Fancy another go?" he asked.

"Mm, what time is it?"

"Nearly 10:00, I think."

"Damn. I want to. I do." She sounded insultingly surprised by her own admission of desire. "But Neville and Luna are supposed to come over to take me out for a belated birthday brunch soon."

Well, _that_killed the mood.

"Ugh, Granger. Never mention Longbottom when I'm groping you."

"Sorry," she said with a quiet giggle. "Rain cheque, though?"

"The _expected_thing would be for us to go our separate ways, berate ourselves for bedding the enemy, and contemplate self-Obliviation."

Her face fell into a frown, prompting an inward round of gloating from Draco. She definitely wanted him.

"Which means, of course, that we should have at least a dozen more goes."

Before she could respond, he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that held the promise of everything he would do to her once they had more time to spare.

"Well," she said with a half-smile, "it _would_ be unexpected."

"Mhm." Holding her at arm's length, he sighed. "Okay, go get dressed, and I'll show you to the floo. You can go have your boring little birthday brunch instead of multiple orgasms, if you must."

He watched her naked body as she retreated towards his bedroom. The hesitant smile she shot him over her shoulder left him tempted to pour every ounce of his charm into convincing her to be very, very late to meet her friends.

Oh, yes. An enemies with benefits arrangement was _exactly_what he needed before he settled down.

-oOo-

_24 September 2002_

Somehow, Draco knew Hermione would seek him out at the Leaky Cauldron.

"Hello, Malfoy," she said, once again sitting on the rickety chair she had occupied a few nights prior.

"Granger."

"How have you been?"

"I've been well." Letting his gaze flicker down to where her hands held her cloak closed tight, he quirked an eyebrow. "Is it raining?"

Her answering smile was almost shy. "Perhaps. Do you want to see my new pyjamas?"

Draco let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Do they have kittens on this time?"

"Not quite."

She only gave him a glimpse. The opening in her cloak revealed less than most witches' necklines, but it was enough to give him a detailed mental image of her new "pyjamas."

There was nothing there but skin.

"You had better meet me outside _immediately_, Granger."

"And if I don't?"

"I will come back in here and fuck you on top of the bar."


	3. Meaningless

**Chapter Three: Meaningless**

_2 November 2002_

"I'm telling you, it's a travesty," Hermione said.

"I don't see how."

"You grew up in the '80's, and you've never seen a Molly Ringwald film. Trust me; it's a crime against nature."

"I've never seen a film, full stop."

"Well, we're changing that."

Chuckling Draco kissed his way down her neck and across her chest. "We are, are we?"

"Yeah. You're coming over to my flat next weekend, and I am going to educate you."

"Hmm. Only if I can educate you in return."

"What could you have to teach me?"

He smirked. "I can think of a few things we haven't yet covered."

"Hmph."

With a tousle of his hair, she sprung out of bed, threw on his dressing gown, and padded into the bathroom. The wide, circular tub called to her with promises of a hot bath, but instead, she hurried through going to the bathroom and washing her hands.

"You know, you have more hair products than me, Ginny, and Luna combined," she said, chuckling at the rows of bottles that ran the length of Draco's bathroom counter.

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me — at least where you're concerned."

"Ha, ha."

"Come back to bed."

Scurrying across the slate tiles, she untied the dressing gown. The chill that always permeated his bedroom found her, cutting her to the bone in the few seconds it took for her to fling herself between his soft sheets. Shivering, she hugged her knees to her chest.

"You could always cast a Warming Charm," Draco said.

"You could always keep your room a few degrees hotter than the North Pole."

Hermione knew how she _really_wanted to warm up, but Draco wasn't one for cuddling. His post-sex routine never changed. A Cleaning Charm, a lazy kiss, a light pat on the bottom, some conversation, and a muttered goodnight before he retreated to his own side of the bed. Always in that order.

As Draco's breathing grew slow and deep, she frowned at his naked back. Sleeping with an acquaintance outside the confines of a committed relationship didn't test her conscience. Casual sex with a friend, on the other hand — _that_ gave her pause. Too many opportunities for feelings to creep in, complicating their arrangement.

Flopping onto her back, she sighed. Why the hell did she want him to hold her? Such a desire was risky, bound to get her hurt. To complicate matters further, she had no idea if he enjoyed their talks the way she did, or if he tolerated her yammering due to the things she let him do to her. Draco was all shadows and frosty indifference — impossible to read.

Ending it seemed like the wisest option. A clean break, before things got messy.

"Can't you turn that thing off?" Draco said.

"What thing?"

"Your brain." Rolling over, he traced a finger along her temple. "You think too much." Without preamble, he dipped his hand between her legs.

"Maybe we should stop this."

"Why? You can't tell me you're not having fun. There's no bloody way I'll believe you if you say you don't enjoy this."

Cheeks flushed, breath coming in rapid gasps, she struggled to maintain her tremulous grasp on her senses. Already, his hands knew her body so well.

"It—_oh_—it's not that," she said. "It's just, well, we're not supposed to... to have any sort of emotional attachment."

He froze. "If you tell me you're in love with me—"

"I'm not!"

With a sigh of relief, he nipped at her shoulder and resumed the movement of his fingers. "Good. Keep it that way, yeah?"

"Oh, Malfoy," she whispered. "That feels—wait. I have to say this. I've started to think of you as a friend."

"Yeah, so?" He trailed hot kisses over her belly and — to her simultaneous delight and dismay — replaced his hand with his mouth.

"It complicates things."

"Hmm. I don't see why. In fact, I think it rather improves things." At Hermione's questioning whimper, he dragged his mouth back up her body and grabbed his wand off of the bedside table.

"You can't really be at ease with an acquaintance," he said, "and even less so with an enemy. With friendship comes trust."

Two flicks of his wand bound Hermione's hands and feet to the bed with invisible restraints.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Do you trust me?" he whispered, his breath warm and sweet against her neck.

Abandoning all thoughts of quitting his bed, she said the one word she never thought she'd say to Draco Malfoy in response to that question.

"Yes."

-oOo-

_8 December 2002_

"Oh, _fuck yes_, Granger."

Draco groaned, grabbing two fistfuls of Hermione's hair and tugging as release washed over him. Fond amusement cut through his haze of satisfaction when she twisted her mouth into a disgusted grimace and swallowed.

"Mm," he said, his entire body buzzing with contentment. "That was bloody fantastic."

"Glad you enjoyed it," she said with a soft laugh at his already drooping eyelids.

"D'you want me to return the favour?"

He wasn't entirely certain he had the energy to do so, but he wouldn't have her accusing him of being a selfish lover.

"That's okay." Pulling back the fluffy white duvet, she crawled into his bed. "You look like you'd fall asleep halfway through. You can make it up to me in the morning."

As she burrowed under the covers, Draco took a moment to observe Hermione. She was not beautiful. Her breasts were a little too small, her thighs a little too thick, and her face a little too plain. Attractive, certainly, with an earthy sort of prettiness, but never beautiful. Still, he found that he rather liked the smattering of freckles across her nose and the way her mouth curved into a smile when she thought he was being ridiculous. Her hands were one of his favourite things about her — they were fine-boned, with long pianist's fingers.

They looked especially lovely when wrapped around certain parts of _his_anatomy.

Hermione looked up at him with questioning brown eyes. Shaking his head to clear it of unwanted thoughts, he climbed in next to her and pulled her close for the customary goodnight kiss. Soft and warm in his arms, she tempted him. His lips lingered over hers, drawing out the experience. With a pleased murmur, she wriggled closer as he continued to lavish her mouth with gentle kisses and ran his hands up and down her back.

He didn't want to let her go.

Well, what would be the harm if he didn't? They were _friends_, after all. Friends could embrace without commitment. It wouldn't mean anything.

"Hey," he said, trying to subtly arrange their bodies so she rested her head on his shoulder. "Remember when you said you wanted to travel before you settled down?"

"Of course."

"Want to go somewhere with me?" As he spoke, he settled his hand over her breast. "Next month, maybe. Somewhere warm, since you're always whining about the cold."

"Um, yeah. That could be fun."

"I wonder if it's terribly difficult to shag in a hammock." Contemplating the mechanics of such an act, he tilted his head to one side. "Hmm. I think the idea has potential. We'll have to try it out."

"We'll see," she said with a barely restrained laugh. "Are you coming over this weekend?"

"Yeah, I think so. But no films."

"Pft. Don't pretend you don't enjoy them."

"Some of the action films weren't so bad. And, okay, _Sixteen Candles_ was tolerable. Barely. But don't you dare tell anyone."

"Don't worry. I'll take your dirty secret to my grave." Her lips brushed against his one last time. "Goodnight."

"Mm. Night."

As she moved to give him his space, he tightened his hold. With a few owlish blinks, she snuggled into his side — cautiously, as if afraid he would reject her. Smiling at her in the dark, he kissed her forehead.

It was spontaneous, carried out before he had time to consider his actions. Of the many places on Hermione's body that had become acquainted with Draco's lips, her forehead was not one of them. Such a gesture was too affectionate, too intimate.

Draco shrugged it off as an excess of gratitude for a truly amazing blowjob. Oral sex obviously gave him all sorts of strange impulses. And if he held her while they slept, it didn't mean anything.

It didn't.

-oOo-

_5 January 2003_

"I'm going to fall."

"You're not. Just shift up a little, and then—"

"Draco, seriously." Giggle-shrieking, Hermione tangled her hands in the web of ropes beneath them as they rocked back and forth. "It's not going to work. You're just going to have to accept it. Hammock sex is not meant to be."

Slumping forward, she rested her ear over his heart. The past week had been nothing short of blissful. So much so that they had decided to extend their trip by a few days. Being able to kiss whenever they wanted without the fear of it ending up on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_was delightfully liberating.

To her surprise, he'd even held her hand as they walked along the black sand beach.

"We should do this again sometime," Draco said.

"I told you, it's not going to work."

"Not shagging in a hammock. Travelling. Where would you like to go next? My vote is for somewhere less hot."

Hermione chuckled at the blush that painted Draco's cheeks, nose, and forehead. She suspected it was not entirely due to exertion.

_Malfoys don't sunburn, my arse_, she thought.

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "It'll be a while before I can get some more time off."

"Why?"

"Well, _some_of us have to work for a living."

"Hmph." With a deep chuckle, he ghosted his fingers over the spot on her side that he knew to be particularly ticklish. "What are your feelings on being a kept woman?"

Squirming on top of him, she laughed and swatted at his insistent hands until her stomach ached and tears of mirth gathered in the corners of her eyes.

"A kept woman?" she said when she caught her breath. "Do you think any of my other lovers can afford to make me one?"

Draco scowled. "Granger, you are not to fuck anyone else."

"Oh, really?" Lifting her head, she smiled at him. "And why not?"

"I'll not have you off with some other bloke when you should be on your knees in front of me." Tightening his arms around her waist, he bit her neck. "You're _mine_until we're done with this fling. I don't share well."

Hermione didn't know how to handle this new, possessive side of Draco. What about their no strings attached philosophy? Was he implying he wanted to be exclusive?

"Well," she said with a challenging quirk of her eyebrows, "if I'm not going to be with anyone else, then neither are you. I'll not have you off shagging some mindless bint when you should be begging me to get on my knees in front of you."

Instead of flashing her the expected smirk and making a sarcastic comment, Draco lowered his eyes and stared at her shoulder.

"Okay," he said, tucking her head under his chin and trailing a hand through her mad hair. "And by the way, I _do_have to work. Taking over the family business someday, remember? In fact, I wonder if I can find an owl anywhere nearby. I should probably write to my father and let him know I've decided to return a bit late."

"Don't you know how to conjure a Patronus?"

"Yes," he said, his voice taking on a strange, defensive tone. "I learnt a few years ago."

"Just send that, then. It's what I did. I don't fancy waiting around for you to find some wizards. I want to go snorkelling later."

Draco stifled a yawn. "Okay, I suppose that would work."

The swaying of the hammock slowed as they grew still and quiet: a metronome that kept time with the thud of his heart under her cheek. The distant roar of ocean waves acted as a wordless lullaby, helping sleep to sneak in. Draco shattered the lazy peace with a whisper.

"What form does your Patronus take?"

"An otter. What about yours?" No answer. "Malfoy?"

He was already asleep.


	4. Caught

**Chapter Four: Caught**

_8 July 2003_

"Okay, now we have to sift the dry ingredients together," Hermione said as she rifled through Draco's kitchen cupboards in search of the appropriate tools.

"You know," he said. "If we had just asked Dippy to make us a cake, it would've been done ages ago and we could be busying ourselves in more interesting ways."

His attempt to sneak a hand up the front of her shirt was blocked with a slap to the back of his wrist. Shoving him away, Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Malfoy, is that all you think about?"

"Only when you're around."

After dipping a finger in the flour, she dabbed it on the end of his nose. "It had _better_only be when I'm around."

"Oh, yeah?"

Placing his hands on either side of her hips, Draco pinned her body against the counter. He suspected he didn't look as seductive or as threatening as he intended, given the cake ingredients on his face, but she still smiled and placed a lingering kiss on his lips.

"Yeah." She draped her arms around his shoulders. "You're _mine_until we're done with this fling, remember?"

"Those words do sound familiar."

To distract her, Draco grinded his hips against hers. When she tilted her head back and sighed, he dusted his hand with flour and then clapped it over her breast. Triumphant, he smirked at the large, white handprint left behind.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Oh, you're going to pay for that."

Puffy clouds of white dust surrounded them as they hurled fistfuls of flour at each other. Draco knew his house elf, Dippy, would scold him and probably ban him from "her" kitchen for a while (that elf spent _far_too much time being influenced by Hermione), but he didn't care. He was too wrapped up in the sound of Hermione's laughter, the feel of her skin, and the excitement in her voice. This was how he liked her best: playful, at ease, and not caught up analysing every little thing.

Hermione squealed a half-hearted protest when Draco lifted her up and sat her on the edge of the counter. Standing between her legs, he moved her mad hair out of the way so he could bite the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

"Want you," he whispered against her mouth. As if there was ever a time when he _didn't_want her. She hadn't been wrong; he was rather preoccupied with shagging her whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Hermione's throaty chuckle rang in his ears as he slowly unbuttoned her shirt and threw it aside. Suddenly, he was in the mood to take his time – to savour every inch of her while he still could. While she was still, against all odds, _his_.

_For now, anyway_, a sinister voice in the back of his mind reminded him.

He shoved the thought aside. Focusing on the temporary nature of their relationship wouldn't lead anywhere pleasant. Instead, he concentrated on Hermione: spread out before him in all of her slightly flour-coated glory.

Reaching around her back, Draco battled with the clasp of her bra. No matter how often he practiced, he never could seem to pop it open with a flick of his hand like that bloke in one of the naughtier films he'd watched at her flat. He was half-tempted to use his wand to vanish her clothes (he'd like to see some show-off Muggle do _that_), but he liked the process – the seduction of undressing her.

Hermione moaned as he teased her with feather-soft touches and barely-there kisses. He was so caught up in the delicious sounds she made and the way she rolled her hips against his that he didn't notice the whoosh of the floo activating.

"Ahem."

Gasping, Hermione jerked back and shielded her chest from view. She didn't run away when she saw Lucius's face suspended in the green flames of the fireplace, as some other women might have done. Instead, she straightened her shoulders, clenched her fists, and glared at Draco's father.

_Not now,_Draco thought. _Not yet. I'm__not_ _ready for this._

"Terribly sorry to interrupt," Lucius said with a smirk. "Draco, might I have a word?"

"Of course."

Draco retrieved Hermione's shirt and wrapped it around her shoulders. The temptation to place a reassuring kiss on her forehead nagged at him, but he couldn't bring himself to be so openly defiant. She marched out of the kitchen without looking back.

To Draco's complete and utter shock, once Hermione was out of earshot, his father laughed.

"The Granger girl?" Lucius said with a chortle. "Well done. Potter will _hate_that."

"You aren't angry?"

"Do you think you're the first Malfoy to practice with a Mudblood before settling down? It's the only thing they're good for."

Draco cringed. Something deep inside him twisted at the sound of the slur he had once used to torment Hermione.

"Don't get serious about her," Lucius said. "Have your fun, but do _not_disappoint me when it comes time to choose a wife."

Draco's mouth went dry, as though each of Lucius's words shovelled sand onto his tongue. "Of course."

After he finished discussing some business matters with his father, Draco searched his flat for Hermione. He had expected her to wait in the living room or his bedroom, but all he found was one very irate house elf.

"What did Master Draco do?" Dippy said, placing her hands on her hips in an uncanny impression of her favourite witch.

"I didn't do anything. Where's Granger?"

Jabbing Draco's shin with a bony finger, she fixed him with an accusing glare. "Miss Hermione is being sad because of something!"

Draco groaned. He just _had_to pick a relative of Dobby's to serve him in his flat, didn't he? And he just _had_to give in to Hermione's whining and give Dippy clothes and a paycheque. An ordinary house elf would obediently (and silently) help him with whatever he wanted.

"I know she is," Draco said, "but I didn't do it. I just want to find her and make her happy again, okay?"

Dippy patted the shin she had previously abused, her expression softening. "Dippy is sending Miss Hermione home. She is needing rest, but is not wanting to sleep in Master Draco's room."

With a silent nod, Draco stepped towards the floo. Dippy stopped him by grabbing his hand.

"Master Draco, you is taking cake to Miss Hermione to cheer her up. Dippy will get it."

Draco winced as the little elf disappeared with a crack. Oh, she was going to be intolerable when she saw the mess. Within a few seconds, Dippy reappeared, holding a large, elaborately decorated chocolate cake.

"Master Draco," she said with a slow shake of her head. "To make the cake, you has to put the flour _in_the bowl. Dippy is knowing you should have let her cook for you."

Draco cracked a smile for the first time since his father's interruption. "I'll be sure to do that next time."

As he flooed away to Hermione's flat, Draco was sure he heard Dippy mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, "Master Draco is losing his mind if he is thinking Dippy is going to let him touch her kitchen again."

He found Hermione sitting on her sofa, holding her stupid cat and sniffling. She attempted a smile when she saw the cake tin in his hands.

"Dippy sends her regards," he said, plunking the cake on her coffee table. She kept her gaze trained on his boots, refusing to look at his face as she stood up.

"Have you been crying?" he said softly.

"No."

"I don't believe you. Come here—"

Ducking out of his attempted embrace, she shook her head. "Just do it already."

"Do what?"

"End it. That's why you're here, right?"

"Why would you think I'm here to break up with you?" He trailed his fingers up and down her arms, leaving tracks in the flour that still coated her.

"Because your father saw us."

"Yes, and while that killed the mood, I see no reason to stop shagging you. In warded rooms without fireplaces, of course." With his forehead resting against hers, Draco held her close.

"He... approves?" she said.

"I think you know the answer to that."

She fisted her hands in his shirt. "Of course he doesn't approve."

"No, he doesn't. But apparently it's something of a family tradition to carry on with a Muggle-born prior to getting married. He thought it was funny, actually."

"Oh, I'm _so_ glad I could amuse him."

Draco chuckled. A strange thrill swept through him when she accepted the slow, gentle kisses he brushed against her lips.

That thrill evaporated when Hermione pulled away and spoke in a whisper, as though she didn't want anyone to hear what she said.

"Is that all I am to you? A way to sow your wild oats before you settle down with someone more appropriate?"

"Argh. First I'm cockblocked by my father, and now by your need to ask questions."

"Answer me. Is that all I am?"

Cupping her face in his hands, he forced her to look into his eyes. "No. But you have to know that if you're looking for hearts and rainbows and constant declarations of feelings, you're with the wrong wizard. If you want sarcasm and mindblowing orgasms, then I'm your man."

After an indignant huff and a light swat of his chest, she allowed him to resume kissing her. When he reached for the hem of her shirt, she pushed his hands away.

"Where do you see this going?" she asked.

Oh, anything but that question.

"Please don't ask me that." He held her tighter, half-afraid she would vanish at any second.

"I have to know." Smoothing his hair back from his forehead, she kissed the corner of his mouth. "I _deserve_ to know."

"I think you already do, love. My family… I can't. I can't make you any long-term promises."

She sighed. "Yeah. Thought so."

"I want to, if that helps."

Hermione's face crumpled as if she was in pain. Draco wiped the tears from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

"It does help," she said with a shaky smile. "A little."

"Granger," he whispered, "if you're going to give up on this because we're doomed, can I at least get a goodbye shag?"

Laughing, she stroked her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "I have no doubt that this is only going to get me hurt," she said, "and goodness knows I should just try to salvage what is left of my self-respect and walk away, but I'm not ready to give you up."

"Thank Merlin."

-oOo-

_20 December 2004_

Hermione couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. Everything in her peripheral vision went hazy and dark. Her eyes could only focus on one thing: Draco, sitting at a cosy table for two with a leggy blonde.

"Hermione?" Harry's voice penetrated her angry fog. "Are you okay?"

Swallowing over the lump in her throat, she looked around at the concerned faces of Harry and the Weasleys. She had agreed to go out to dinner with them to celebrate the completion of Ron's Auror training because she wanted to start working on repairing their friendship. If she'd known who else would be at the restaurant, she would've stayed home.

"Sorry," she managed to say. "I'm a bit woozy; I think I might be coming down with something."

Mrs. Weasley pressed a cool hand to Hermione's forehead. Hermione leant into her soothing touch, drawing comfort from Mrs. Weasley's murmured words of concern.

It wasn't as though she was unaware of the arranged dates Draco went on to pacify his parents. From the beginning, he'd always been up front about them. When she asked what happened on the dates, he said he took the women out to dinner, made polite conversation, escorted them home, and said goodnight. No kisses passed between his lips and theirs. Hermione had never liked the situation, but she understood the need to keep his parents off of his case.

Seeing one of the dinners in action was another matter entirely. The pretty witch who accompanied Draco had all of the charm and beauty of Fleur. She kept leaning in to touch his arm and laugh when he said something witty. Worse, he allowed it. That flirtatious grin on his face was supposed to be for Hermione alone.

Hermione took a few gulps of cold, calming water and fought back the sob rising in her throat. He would marry one of those girls. Maybe not that exact one, but one like her. Being with Draco was like living in an unrealistic bubble, hoping in vain that it wouldn't pop; that nothing would disturb the imaginary world they had created for themselves where they were free to be together; that maybe, just for them, time would stand still.

"Sorry," Hermione said. "Maybe I should go. I think I need to lie down. Congratulations, Ron."

After giving the guest of honour a quick hug, she hurried towards the exit. Against her better judgment, she took one last look at that other table. The woman leant in to kiss Draco. He moved back and shot her a disarming smile, placing his lips out of her reach. As if he sensed Hermione staring at him, Draco raised his head. When their gazes locked, his mouth fell open in a silent plea for her to understand.

Hermione walked away.


	5. The Inevitable

**Chapter Five: The Inevitable**

_22 December 2004_

Draco opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to force words past the lump in his throat. His pulse roared in his ears, thudding in time with his shallow breaths.

Lucius didn't look up from the papers on his desk as he signed his son's life away. "Given your recent behaviour, I can only assume you aren't taking your responsibilities seriously. You're going to be 24 next year. We've given you more than enough chances to find a suitable wife."

_Well_, Draco thought. _Happy fucking Christmas to me_. _"Sorry, son, they were all out of new brooms. Here, have a wife."_

"I just haven't met the right—"

"Draco, _really_." Leaning back in his chair, Lucius shook his head. "I know exactly who has been auditioning for the role of the next Mrs. Malfoy, and it's certainly not any of the women you've been taking to dinner."

"She... she's not what you think. You've no idea how clever she is – truly. Everything they say about her intelligence is true. And her magic – she's skilled. Not to mention her friendship with Potter. An alliance with her could help repair our public image."

Lucius scowled. "We may have lost the war, but we still have standards. No Mudblood will ever be welcome in this house unless it is bound, gagged and in the dungeons."

Bile burnt the back of Draco's throat. "And if I refuse this match?" he whispered, feeling like a pitiful child who was begging to break the rules. "What then?"

"No son of mine would choose a Mudblood over his family." Lucius's cold, grey eyes softened an infinitesimal amount as he lowered his voice. "Keep the Granger girl on the side, if you wish. Just keep it quiet, and for heaven's sake don't get her pregnant. No one will begrudge you that tiny bit of happiness, so long as you are discreet."

Sliding the prenuptial agreement and engagement contract across his desk, Lucius held his ostentatious peacock feather quill out to Draco.

_No, no, no, no_, Draco thought. _I don't want__her._

"_Now_, Draco. I'm through waiting."

Draco watched with a strange, detached kind of horror as his shaky hand formed the capital D of his first name. Suddenly, he wanted to track down his aunt Andromeda and ask her how she'd done it. Had the love of Ted Tonks been worth the price she had to pay? How had she managed to cope with her own parents being so disappointed in her that they pretended she didn't exist? She must have loved them, at some point. They were her _parents_. How did it feel to know she was worse than dead to them?

Instead of fleeing his father's study and searching out disowned relatives, Draco scribbled his signature ten more times. The magic binding him to the contract swirled around his head in a haze of green smoke, making his eyes water and filling his nose with the cloying scent of incense.

"Excellent," Lucius said. "Now that that's settled, you should hurry to your old room. The Greengrasses will be here soon, and you still need to dress for dinner. I had one of the elves lay out some suitable clothes."

Draco clenched his jaw against the urge to lash out and hit something.

"Yes, Father."

-oOo-

Draco shuffled his feet across the threshold of his flat, shaking his head to clear it of all things involving Astoria Greengrass. She was everything a pureblood wife should be, but he wanted no part of her. Instead, he longed for frighteningly frizzy brown curls, infuriating bossiness, and the kind of impassioned arguments that left him emotionally drained.

Fuck it all, he wanted _Granger_. She had some nerve worming her way into his life and making him want someone he shouldn't.

"Master Draco?" Dippy said as he threw his crumpled tie to the floor and flopped onto his bed. "Is you okay?"

"Yeah. Just grand."

"Hmph. You is not. Dippy knows!" Yanking Draco's hands away from his face, she felt his forehead. "You is not having a fever. Maybe you is not getting enough fibre? Dippy is making you some bran muffins for breakfast tomorrow."

Leave it to his insane house-elf to take what was possibly the second-worst day of his life and make it about regular bowel movements. Draco would never forgive Hermione for tricking him with U-No-Poo (he may have been implying that disobedient house-elves deserved harsh punishment at the time, but _still_). It'd just happened once, but Dippy couldn't let it go. She was forever trying to stuff him with bran muffins and high fibre cereals.

"I'm fine," he said. "Everything is in working order, as always. Just fetch Granger for me."

"Oh, yes! Dippy is finding Miss Hermione now."

Staring up at the ceiling, Draco counted off the seconds in his head. If Hermione refused—

"Hey," a familiar voice said. Relief washed over him like a balm.

"Hey," Draco said. "Didn't think you'd show up."

"Well, Dippy seems to think you're ill. If you're going to die, I'd hate to miss it."

Draco tried to smile. "Still angry with me, I take it?"

"Of course I am. You were _flirting_ with that woman."

Propping himself up on his elbows, he took in every aspect of her appearance – from her stupid, lumpy jumper to the smudges of ink on her fingers. An impossibly dear mental snapshot to carry with him into his unwanted marriage.

"I had to," he said. "It didn't mean anything. You know nothing happens on those bloody dates, but if word got back to my parents that I wasn't really exploring my options…"

Fat lot of good all of that effort had done him.

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe that's not enough anymore."

"Granger," he whispered, sitting up and resting his forehead against her stomach. "Please, love. I've had the worst day."

Her fingers stroked through his hair – gentle and slow. "What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Pulling her down so she straddled his hips, he kissed a path along her neck. "I just want to forget. Please."

Telling her he was now an engaged man would've been the honourable thing, but Draco had never put much stock in honour. Especially since he knew her so well. Once she found out, they would be finished. Instead, he gave selfishness free rein, undressing her without another word and making every effort to imprint the details in his mind.

Hermione's moans. Her too-small breasts and too-thick thighs. Her fingernails scraping across his back. The murmured words of affection. The astonishingly perfect way she surrounded him. He wanted to – _had_to – remember all of it. This would undoubtedly be their last time together, much as he might wish otherwise.

With a strangled cry, she arched her back, her eyelids fluttering shut. Draco groaned. Digging his fingers into her hips, he let go. For a few, precious seconds, he succeeded in banishing all thoughts of his cold future. He was whole. Complete.

Hermione broke the spell, rolling off of him before he could lock his arms around her and hold her where she belonged.

"I can't stand the thought of you going on any more of those dates," she said. "I understand why they were necessary, but now that I've seen it… I can't handle it. I shouldn't have to. I deserve better than that. It's time you made a choice. Pick a direction."

"You do deserve better." Draco swallowed hard. "I had dinner with my parents tonight."

Everything stopped. He held his breath, waiting for her reaction.

"Oh?" she said.

"They wanted me to meet the woman they've chosen to become my wife. They think it's time I chose a direction as well."

Silence.

"And you're just telling me this _now_? Who is she?"

"Does it matter?"

"Tell me."

"Astoria Greengrass. Daphne's younger sister." Saying _her_name whilst lying next to Hermione felt wrong on every possible level.

"Oh. I've seen her. She's pretty." Fidgeting with the edge of the duvet, Hermione sighed. "This is it, isn't it? The end."

"It doesn't have to be."

"If you're getting married, then _yes_, it does have to be," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Getting married won't make me stop wanting you."

Gods, was he actually following his father's advice and trying to keep her on the side? There was no conceivable way this could end well.

"So, what, you want me to be your mistress?" Hermione said with a disbelieving laugh. When he remained silent, she leapt out of bed, her voice turning breathy and shrill. "Oh, my God. You do. You thought you could have your precious inheritance and continue to string me along. I can't _believe_you, Malfoy! Do you seriously think I'll carry on sleeping with you after you pledge your life to another woman?"

Standing up and darting towards her, Draco grabbed her arms. "Stop it. Don't make it sound like… like that. What we have is truer than any sodding wedding vows. I _love_you, Granger."

The words spilled out before he could stop them. Draco had never felt more naked.

"You love me?" A fleeting smile crossed her face before she shook her head and shoved his hands away. "Well, not enough, apparently. If what we have is so true, you wouldn't need to take me to another country just to hold my hand in public."

"I seem to recall there being _two_people involved in the decision to keep this a secret."

She let out a bitter imitation of a laugh. "I only agreed to it for _your_sake, because of what your parents would do if our relationship was splashed all over the front page of the _DailyProphet_. If it wasn't for them, I would have suggested we go public long ago."

Draco searched her eyes for signs of a lie. He found none. "You can't possibly mean you would actually tell Potter and the Weasleys that you've been fucking Draco Malfoy."

"I would." The quiet conviction in her voice made his stomach churn with something that might have been guilt. "I'm not ashamed of you."

"I'm not ashamed—"

"You are! If you really loved me so much, you would be proudfor everyone to know that I'm yours. You wouldn't be standing here, telling me that you're going to marry another woman. You would ask me to be your wife instead of your dirty little secret. You wouldn't give this up for some _fucking money_!"

"Don't tell me how much I love you. Don't you _dare_." Draco closed his eyes, battling back the rage that surged through his chest and made him tremble. "I have never said those words to another person in my life, so rest assured that I feel pretty damn strongly about you."

When he calmed down enough to look at Hermione again, he found her sobbing and scrambling to get dressed. His stomach sank and his eyes stung, threatening to make him cry in front of someone for the first time since his sixth year.

"Damn it," he said. "If it was just about the money, I'd give it up."

Draco blinked. Bloody hell. He meant it. Every word. He would be _poor_for her. If that wasn't the most horrifying thought he'd ever had, he didn't know what was.

"I would," he said when she did nothing but scoff and shake her head in response. "I don't care about my inheritance, but if I refused Astoria to be with you, I'd be disowned. My parents would never speak to me again. You can't ask me to choose between you and my family. They... they risked _everything_to protect me."

A thousand images of his parents taking curse after curse from the Dark Lord on Draco's behalf flipped through his mind like a Muggle film, unbidden and unwanted. Hermione dressed in silence. She took her time, straightening her shoulders and smoothing her sex-rumpled hair before she deigned to look at him again.

"I suppose I can't ask that of you," she said. "But you can't ask me to be the other woman. You can't beg me to sleep with you without first telling me that you're engaged. That was low, and you know it. You have _never_insulted and demeaned me more than you did today. Not even when we were in school."

"Granger, don't—"

"I love you too. Even now. Fool that I am, I'll probably love you as long as I live, but I refuse to be your pathetic little Mudblood whore."

"Don't call yourself that!"

Before she could make any sort of protest, he grabbed her hips and pressed his mouth agains hers. She clung to him all too briefly before placing a hand on his chest and stepping out of his grasp.

"Goodbye, Draco."

After kissing him his one last time, she turned and ran from his bedroom. He stared numbly at the empty doorway until the distinctive whoosh of the floo activating spurred him into action. Opposing desires warred in his heart and mind as he threw on a dressing gown and raced to the kitchen: Hermione or duty? Love or family? When he grabbed a gritty fistful of powder and shouted her address, he spun through the floo system, bounced against a shimmering wall of magic, and tumbled out of his own fireplace.

She had already changed her wards.

It was really over.


	6. Want

**Chapter Six: Want**

_18 June 2005_

Groaning, Hermione crumpled the Daily Prophet into a ball. Small and uncharacteristically modest as the announcement was, the words, "Draco Malfoy to marry Astoria Greengrass" still made her feel as though all of the air had left the room.

Tomorrow. He would be a married man tomorrow.

At first, she contemplated getting into a soothing bubble bath and camping there until her fingers and toes were nice and pruney. Instead, because it was Draco's last day of bachelorhood, she decided to give herself one final evening to mourn what could have been. After changing her clothes, she made her way to the Leaky Cauldron to commence drowning her sorrows.

He was there.

Sitting at the bar, in that same old chair, shoulders slumped, white-blond head bowed, near-empty glass of Firewhisky in one hand.

Oh, God.

She had caught glimpses of him since their split, but never in a situation where she would be free to approach him. Well, she had managed to talk to Ron cordially enough when they were exes. There was no reason she couldn't do the same with Draco.

"Hello, Malfoy." She sat on the creaky chair to his left, which didn't appear to have improved much with age. It still groaned and trembled alarmingly under her weight.

Draco's head jerked up, a tipsy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Hello, Granger."

"How have you been?"

"Terrible. Welcome to my stag night." He ordered two more drinks, sliding one along the bar to her.

"Thanks."

"Heard you were back with the Weasel."

"I was back with _Ron_, for a while. Didn't take."

"Good. He still doesn't deserve you."

Hermione sat up straighter. "He's a good man."

"That may be, but he has the intellectual capacity of a flobberworm." On the tail-end of a scoff, he gulped too much of his drink before slamming the glass down, causing it to slosh over his hand and puddle on the bar. "Why the hell were you with _him_? Of all the people to rebound—"

"It wasn't a rebound."

"Right." Draco downed the rest of his drink and ordered another. "You say that, but deep down we both know you ran to him because of what happened with us. Because he's too bloody dull to be anything but the safe choice."

"Oh, my God." Slapping a hand over her forehead, she fixed him with a disbelieving glare. "You know, you'd think after all this time I would get used to how conceited you are, but apparently you still have the ability to completely astonish me with your arrogance." She swallowed her remaining Firewhisky at a speed that would intimidate any sailor and motioned for more. "Not everything I do is about _you._ In fact, very little is. I was... after you... all right, yes, I was hurt, but going back to Ron had nothing to do with that. I was with him because, no matter how we may argue at times, I love him."

She couldn't be certain, but she thought she caught him wincing at her declaration, just a little.

"Anyway, Mr. Glass House," she said, "watch where you throw those stones. Need I remind you that you're getting married soon? Talk about rebounding..."

"That's different, and you know it." He shook his head as if to clear it of the muddling effect of alcohol. "Dammit, I don't want to fight with you. Not tonight. Can we just drop it?"

"Fine by me."

As they sat in silence, drinking round after round, sobriety became a distant memory. Anger simmered in the pit of Hermione's belly, thick and dangerous. How unfair he'd been to her. If he hadn't been such a prat and insulted her so thoroughly, maybe she would have been able to search out some closure.

That was exactly what she needed. Closure.

"I've missed you." Draco's quiet voice sliced through the din of the pub, wrapping her in its warmth and hinting at promises he couldn't — or wouldn't — keep.

Against her better judgement, Hermione responded on a sigh, "Likewise."

Reaching across the scant distance between them, he ghosted his fingers over the back of her hand. As seconds ticked into minutes, his touch gained confidence, until he finally laced their fingers together. Hermione wanted to simultaneously laugh and cry. It was the first time he'd held her hand in their home country, and he was soon to be married to another woman.

"Is it raining?" he said.

Hermione closed her eyes against the heat that coiled low in her abdomen at his reference to the first two times they met at the pub. Oh, it was _tempting_.

Closure. That was all it would be. One last time with Draco to get him out of her system. One last taste of needy, hot, breathless passion before he settled into his life of bland domesticity and she banished him from her mind and her heart for good.

"Perhaps," she said, squeezing his hand. "Want to see my pyjamas?"

"Always."

When she opened her cloak to reveal her old penguin nightshirt, he let out a gasp of delighted laughter. He bent closer, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. Hand-in-hand, they hurried outside and apparated to his flat.

"Oof." Draco grunted as she shoved him against his precious, pristine family tapestries. Seeing the physical proof of the centuries-long traditions and values that led to the end of their relationship reignited the fury that had consumed her when he first told her of his impending marriage. She wanted to scream at Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy for their narrow-minded prejudice. She wanted to hex Astoria Greengrass for having the proper blood status. She wanted to punish Draco for not trying harder to find a way for them to stay together.

Later, she knew, she would be more angry at herself than anyone else, but that thought had no place in the thunderstorm that was her current emotional state.

"You're such an arse," she said, ripping his shirt. "Such a stupid, _stupid_arse."

"You're probably right about that," he said with a chuckle. He leant in for a kiss, but she pushed him back against the Malfoy family tree and sucked and bit his exposed chest. He hissed in combined pleasure and pain, running his fingers through her wild hair.

"Ha." Pulling back, she admired the purplish red mark she'd left on his pale skin.

Let him explain _that_ on his wedding night. Let him try to tell Astoria that he didn't belong, heart and soul, to somebody else.

Buttons popped off and seams tore as they divested each other of their remaining clothing. Flipping them around and bracing her back against the tapestry, he hitched her legs around his hips.

_Oh_. At last. She had missed this — missed _him_.

Even through the murky cloud of Firewhisky affecting her judgement, everything felt sharp and in focus. It was as if they hadn't spent any time apart; he still knew exactly how to touch her, how to kiss her as naturally as he knew how to breathe. His hands remembered every inch of her skin. Hermione's whole body sang, higher and higher, until she toppled over the edge into blissful release. Muffling his mouth against her shoulder, he chanted something she couldn't understand, over and over, before they sank to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Hermione couldn't say when she dozed off, only that it was still dark when Draco's touch woke her and made her forget about the cramp in her neck from sleeping on the floor.

"Malfoy?" she said, tracing the love bite on his chest as he trailed drowsy kisses over her collarbone. "What will you call me if I marry Ron and you and I meet in Diagon Alley, someday? Weasley? She-Weasel? Weaselette?"

Draco smirked, positioning himself between her legs once more. His voice lowered to a threatening rumble as he slammed his hips against hers. "I will _always_call you Granger."

-oOo-

As the sky began to lighten to the hazy, deep blue shade that comes just before dawn and a piercing sting of regret and shame radiated from the pit of her stomach, Hermione tried to extricate herself from Draco's embrace.

"Malfoy," she said with a sigh when he held her tighter and shook his head. "I should go."

"I wish you could stay."

Her response stuck in her throat for a moment, burning her eyes as she kissed his neck. "I guess this is really goodbye."

"Is it?"

He sounded far too hopeful. If he dared to ask her to be his mistress again, she would take a page from Barty Crouch Jr's book and turn him into a ferret.

"_Yes._"

His sigh gusted over her forehead, warming her skin and ruffling her curls. "I love you," he whispered.

_And I, you_, she thought.

Wiping a hand over her face, she turned away from him. "It doesn't change anything."

Without another word, he released her, pulling on his trousers as he watched her magically repair her clothes as well as she could. Best not to attempt apparating; she was still a bit drunk from the night before. And damn, her floo connection was still warded against his. Front door it was, then. As her cloak draped over her shoulders, he pulled a red rose from the omnipresent flower arrangement on his coffee table and handed it to her with a smile.

"You really are a stupid arse, you know," she said, accepting the flower in spite of her words.

"So I'm told."

They stood on his doorstep, not touching, but neither willing to let go. Neither of them noticed the dark-haired figure that lurked outside, eavesdropping from the shadows.

"Have a nice life, Malfoy," she said, her voice cracking on his name.

"You too."

Blinking back tears, she allowed him to pull her close for one last kiss. When he spoke again, she barely heard it.

"With me." Gripping her upper arms, he ducked his head to look into her eyes. "Have a nice life _with me_."

"I already told you once. I refuse to be your—"

"Not as my mistress. Fuck, Granger, I... I'll call it off, run away with you today, if you want me."

She caught his elbows, as if afraid she would topple over — as if the urge to hold onto him was something stronger than a need, sharper than a craving. "Malfoy..."

"I want you — every day, I want you. I know I made mistakes, but just... just be with me, Granger. I know you still love me."

She couldn't deny it — didn't want to deny it. "What about your family?"

"I'll make them understand." Resting his forehead against hers, he let his fingers drift up and down her ribcage. "Don't say no. Think about it first."

Not trusting her voice, she settled on a shaky nod.

"The wedding is at Malfoy Manor," Draco said. "At sunset. I'll be there all day."

"What, you want me to swoop in like some Muggle film and shout, 'Stop the wedding'?"

Laughing, he pressed the length of his body against hers. "I'd rather you showed up before it started. Or if you said you were ready now and we could go to my bed, that'd be brilliant."

Clenching her fists against her crumbling resolve, she shook her head. "Draco... have _you_thought about this? Can you honestly say you won't resent me ten years down the line?"

He swallowed. "I can promise it'll be worth it."

-oOo-

Midday sunlight shone on Hermione's clothing-strewn bed, casting everything in yellow. She rushed from the wardrobe to her suitcase, cramming in socks and trousers and shirts.

Was she really doing this? Hours of deliberation hadn't slowed the patter of her heart. Logic hadn't chased away the thrill that enveloped her at the idea of taking Draco up on his offer. They could work through their problems, couldn't they? She hadn't yet forgiven him, but they could try. They could do what they should have done before she stormed out of his flat months before.

They were worth a try.

What else to pack? If they went on a trip, it'd have to be with her money. Maybe France? Or maybe they'd just come back to her flat, crawl into bed, and not emerge for days. She'd have to send an owl to the Ministry, let them know she'd be gone.

Grabbing the suitcase and her keys, she spun on the spot and concentrated on Malfoy Manor. Gravel crunched under her trembling feet as she landed outside the huge, iron gates. No wedding guests yet, but she could see a dance floor and marquee had been set up on the lawn.

A strong hand grabbed her from behind before she could take a step forward, hauling her into the shelter of the hedge. Just before she felt the crush of side-along apparition, a wand pressed to her temple and an unfamiliar voice hissed one word.

"Obliviate."


	7. Dusk

**Chapter Seven: Dusk**

_19 June 2005_

Pink light filtered through the sheer roof of the marquee. Sunset. Soon, he would be able to see the stars.

Draco shuffled his feet and tugged at the neck of his formal robes. He couldn't swallow, couldn't breathe. Where _was_ she?

She couldn't say no. She couldn't. Not after the previous night. He hadn't been alone; she'd felt it too.

Soft music wrapped around him, tightening the knot in his chest. Daphne marched up the aisle in her purple monstrosity of a bridesmaid's dress. Everyone stood for Astoria, and Draco's knees almost gave out.

Maybe Hermione wanted him to make the grand gesture, to duck out of his own wedding and run to her with arms wide open. Given the way things ended between them before, he couldn't blame her. He should do it. He _would_ do it. Steeling himself for the weight of his father's disapproving gaze, he tried to convince his feet to move.

Astoria took his hand. Her soft skin was all wrong — no smear of ink on the middle finger, no writer's bump. Beneath the filmy veil, her chin quivered.

And then someone asked if anyone objected. No voices rose up. No frizzy-headed women raced up the aisle. It happened so fast. Draco repeated words when he was asked. A shower of silver stars rained on him as Astoria tilted her face up for a kiss.

He was a coward. He was married.

-oOo-

_20 June 2005_

She woke up on her kitchen floor. A half-wilted rose lay a few feet away, next to her suitcase. Had she been preparing to go on a trip? The last thing she remembered was reading Draco's wedding announcement and deciding to go to the Leaky Cauldron. Sitting up, she groaned. Her temples throbbed with the worst hangover she'd ever experienced.

Well, there was her answer. Drowning her problems in alcohol had gone a bit too far. At least she hadn't splinched herself. Must've taken the Knight Bus home.

"Hey," Ron said as he let himself in. "You okay? I've been trying to fire-call you since yesterday."

Hermione groaned. "I never want to see Firewhisky ever again."

"Aw." Crouching next to her, he kissed her temple. "Been there. C'mon, I'll make you my mum's special hangover remedy."

"Your mother has a special hangover remedy?"

"Well, headache, nausea, and exhaustion remedy, really. The woman had seven children. Still, it's brilliant for hangovers."

Taking his offered hands, she allowed him to pull her to her feet. He kept one palm pressed to the small of her back for the journey down the hall to her bedroom, rubbing slow circles. Her bed had never looked more inviting. With Ron's assistance, she slid between the cool sheets. He smiled down at her, all boyish charm and warm familiarity, passing gentle fingers over her forehead.

He was so good, her friend. Safe. He'd hurt her before, but never for long. Never like...

"There we go," he said. "You just stay here. I'll go make the remedy. Do you have any porcupine quills?"

"I think so. In the cupboard off the hall." On impulse, she grabbed his arm as he turned to leave. "Ron?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you want to go out sometime?"

-oOo-

_28 July 2005_

Blue light washed over Hermione's abdomen, slowly sparkling into a golden colour. Positive. Her wand clattered to the floor.

A baby. She was going to have a _baby_. Had it been a bad batch of Contraceptive Potion? Had she forgotten to take it one night?

"Hermione?" Ron's voice floated through the door, accompanied by a soft knock. "You all right in there?"

Unable to form words, she let him in — let him see the glow on her belly. He stumbled back a step, his jaw dropping open.

"Is... is that...?"

She nodded. The transformation in his mood was like watching the sunrise. Joy dawned there, showing itself in a wide grin and bright eyes. With a whoop of laughter, he picked her up and spun her around.

"Marry me," he said.

"Ron!" She let out a shocked noise that was somewhere between a cough and a chuckle. "We don't have to get married just because—"

"I know, but I want to. I love you. Always have."

"Always? Even in first year, when—"

"Bah, you know what I mean. Marry me, Hermione. Please?"

-oOo-

_10 February 2006_

Marriage seemed to agree with Hermione. She was slightly rounder in the face, but she wore a funny little smile that spoke of a particularly delicious secret. Draco hadn't been prepared to see her sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, reading a little pink book and making notes on a slip of parchment.

"Hello," he said, slipping into the chair across from her before his whirring thoughts had a chance to catch up and warn him against such an action.

She started, pressing a hand over her chest. "Oh. Malfoy. Hello."

"How've you been?"

The secret smile reappeared — dimmer, but directed at him. "I think that's my line. I've been well, though, thank you. You?"

_My wife is driving me crazy_, Draco thought. _Get a room with me and make it all better. Preferably with your tongue._

"I'm fine," he said instead. "What are you reading?" He pulled the book from her hand, then wished he hadn't.

_1001 Baby Names._Oh.

"Fancy a stroll in Muggle London?" he asked, wanting to get as far away from a potential audience as possible.

"Hmm." Pursing her lips, she glanced at her watch. "I suppose."

As she stood up, her belly came into full view. It was _huge_. She had to be fairly far along. Her light cotton maternity top rode up in front as she pulled on her cloak, revealing silvery stretch marks.

After the door of the Leaky Cauldron swung shut behind them, Draco forced himself to hold his tongue for twenty paces.

"When are you due?" he asked when he could stand it no longer.

"The tenth of March."

His. That baby could be _his_.

Wiping his clammy hands on his trousers, he fought to keep his voice cool and neutral. "When did you and Weasley get back together?"

"June of last year." Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Christ. Is that why you didn't...?" With a shake of his head, he pressed his lips together. "Never mind. You're sure it's his?"

She looked as though he'd struck her. Draco almost felt as if he had.

"Of_course_ I'm sure," she said, quickening her strides. "What kind of person do you think I am?"

"I really wouldn't know. You made sure of that, didn't you?"

Her fingers twitched — the same fingers that had left a red imprint on his cheek in third year.

"I think the blame for _that_ rests on your shoulders," she said. "Did you ask me to come with you just to antagonise me?"

"No." He scrubbed a hand over his face. This wasn't going the way he envisioned. Not at all. "Listen, let's just put it behind us, okay? Truce?"

She shrugged. They turned onto a side street, coming to a stop on the corner. Leaning against the building made her swollen abdomen stick out even more. Draco reached a tentative hand towards it. At the last second, he remembered that he wasn't allowed to place his hands on her body without first asking permission. Not anymore.

"Go ahead," she said with a roll of her eyes. "You may as well. Everyone else treats my belly as if it's communal property."

A tiny kick greeted his fingers. He would have smiled, had he not known it was Ron Weasley's baby.

"Am I a complete arsehole for being disappointed that it's not mine?" he whispered.

She almost laughed. "No, you're a complete arsehole for many other reasons."

"Well," he said, trying to summon up a smile, "I suppose we'll see each other at King's Cross."

All amusement melted from her expression. "Astoria's pregnant?"

"Due in four months. They'll be in the same year."

"Congratulations." She swallowed hard. "Your parents must be thrilled."

"They are. Thank you. Congratulations to you, too."

A thick silence enveloped the pair as they stood on the Muggle street corner, both of them out of place in the Wizarding clothes that not even Hermione had thought to transfigure into something more appropriate.

"I should get back," she said, finally. "I'm supposed to be meeting Ginny at Madam Malkin's soon."

Without waiting for permission this time, Draco grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a hug.

"Have a nice life, Granger," he whispered.

"You too." Sniffling, she pulled away and wiped her eyes. "Damn pregnancy hormones. I'm always crying at everything. I've turned into my worst nightmare — my mother. The woman cries at baby shampoo adverts."

She accepted the handkerchief he offered, rising up on her tiptoes to press a fleeting kiss to his cheek as her fingers closed around the crisp linen. And then, without another word, she spun on her heel and walked away from him.


	8. Meetings

**Chapter Eight: Meetings**

_1 August 2010_

Harry shifted his hold on Hugo, balancing the wiggly boy on his hip. Sticky, pudgy hands reached for his glasses, but he kept them out of reach in spite of Hugo's whining.

"I really have no bloody idea what to get her this year," Harry said. His free hand went to his messy hair, ruffling it further as his nose wrinkled at the selection in Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"I'm not sure how much help I'll be," Hermione said. "I don't have any ideas myself, much less one to spare for you. Maybe we should look somewhere else. Ginny doesn't have much time to play Quidditch these days."

"Yeah, maybe."

As they left the stuffy shop behind for the bustle of Diagon Alley, Hermione caught a glimpse of two elegantly dressed woman with a little boy in tow. The younger of the women examined her nails as the elder one presented the miniature clone of Draco with a towering ice cream cone.

"Mum," Rose said, tugging on Hermione's hand when she caught her mother staring. "Who's that?"

"The one in blue is Narcissa Malfoy," Harry answered for her. "She saved my life once. The other one is her daughter-in-law. What was her name again? Aurora? Aubergine?"

"Astoria," Hermione said.

"Right, that's it. Oh, bollocks, they're coming this way."

"Hello, Mr. Potter," Narcissa said with her chilly version of a smile.

"Mrs. Malfoy." Harry nodded. "How are you?"

"Very well, thank you. Oh, is this one of your little ones?"

Without waiting for a response, Narcissa tickled Hugo's side and cooed at him when he giggled. Hermione resisted the urge to rub her eyes in disbelief. It was like watching Draco and Ron sitting down for a cup of tea without punches or insults being thrown. Possible, certainly, but highly unlikely.

"No, this is Hermione's son, Hugo," Harry said. "You remember my friend, Hermione Weasley?"

"How could I forget?" Narcissa's gaze skipped over Hermione and lingered on Rose before returning to Harry. "I believe you've met my daughter-in-law. This is my grandson, Scorpius."

Up close, Scorpius's resemblance to Draco was even stronger. Hermione was tempted to say something sarcastic to him, just to see if he also had his father's smirk.

"And who is this?" Narcissa asked, kneeling next to Rose with a wince as her knees creaked and popped. Hermione realised with a start just how frail Draco's mother looked. Her hair was prematurely snow white, her skin was as thin as tissue paper, and the care with which she handled herself spoke less of her aristocratic nature and more of some constant source of physical pain.

"My daughter, Rose," Hermione said.

"And how old are you?" Narcissa asked Rose, not bothering to so much as glance at Hermione.

With her lips pressed together, Rose held up the appropriate number of fingers: four.

"You have such pretty blue eyes," Narcissa said in a voice so low, it was almost a whisper. "And these curls."

Hermione watched in puzzled horror as Narcissa stroked Rose's hair, running her fingers through the brown ringlets. This was beyond the strangeness of the earlier scene with Hugo. Hermione knew Narcissa had taken to flaunting her status as the saviour of The Boy Who Lived, using Harry like a rung on a ladder in her climb to her previous social status, but what was this? What was she playing at?

"Narcissa," Astoria said, "I hate to pull you away, but we really should be going. Draco is expecting us."

"Yes, of course." Narcissa stood up with a low groan, shrugging off Astoria's attempt to assist her. "Well, it was nice to see you again, Mr. Potter. And it was lovely to meet you, Rose."

"What in the world is she up to?" Hermione whispered once Narcissa and company were out of earshot. "Rosie, did she put anything on you? Let me see."

"I doubt she'd do something like that, Hermione," Harry said. "You know how she is. She was probably hoping people would see her making nice. I don't think she had anything more sinister than improving her image in mind."

"Yeah, but you don't know her that well, do you?"

Harry's eyebrows lifted. "And _you_do?"

He had a point; Hermione had not spent any time with her ex-lover's mother since the war. Still, she knew enough about both of Draco's parents to be wary of Narcissa showing an interest in Rose.

-oOo-

_1 September 2017_

There she was.

Draco watched Hermione out of the corner of his eye as she laughed and talked with her family and friends on Platform 9 ¾. Her son was all Weasley, but the little girl — the one he had felt kicking in Hermione's belly all those years ago — was her mother's daughter. He could only see the girl's back, but with that ridiculous tangle of curls she could easily pass for the Hermione of his childhood. She was even already be in her Hogwarts robes. Pure Granger, that one.

Through the fog that rolled along the platform, Ron, the Potters, and Hermione stared at Draco. Unsure how to respond, he gave them a curt nod before turning his attention to his son.

"What if I'm not in Slytherin?" Scorpius whispered.

"It doesn't matter to me," Draco said, hoping it sounded more convincing than it felt.

"Me either," Astoria said, bending down to straighten Scorpius's hair and clothes. Scorpius squirmed at the public display of affection from his mother, but squeezed her tight when she embraced him.

Life with Astoria may have been difficult, but Draco had to admit she was a good mother. There was something about their child that transformed her into less of a frigid hellbeast.

"But what if I end up in Hufflepuff?" Scorpius asked with suddenly wide eyes, as if the possibility had only just occurred to him.

Draco chuckled. "Well, I _might_care then."

Lucius Malfoy would roll in his grave if his grandson ended up in any house other than Slytherin. Draco wondered if that was the main reason behind Scorpius's anxiety. As much as he missed his father, Draco was secretly a little relieved that he would no longer have to worry about the things he said to Scorpius. Nonsense about duty, blood, and how a Malfoy should behave — the same old speeches delivered to a new generation. Draco wanted none of it for his child.

Scorpius would marry whomever he bloody well pleased. At least Draco and Astoria were agreed on that, if not much else.

"Draco, _really_," Astoria said. "Scorpius, wherever you end up, that's where you'll do best. Even if it is Hufflepuff. Now hurry up. You want to find a good seat."

After his son was thoroughly hugged and safely bundled onto the train, Draco risked another look in Hermione's direction. She laughed at something her daughter said, her gaze flitting towards his end of the platform and settling on him for a heartbeat.

"Draco?" Astoria said softly.

"Hmm?"

Without warning, she wrapped her arms around him.

What the _hell_? Had Dippy slipped her some sort of personality altering potion? And if so, why didn't she start doing it on a regular basis years ago?

"I'm sorry I wasn't the one you wanted," she said as she pulled back, her head tilting in Hermione's direction.

Well, shit.

"Not your fault," he managed to choke out through his shock. "How... um. How long have you known?"

"Since the beginning." She cleared her throat. "Well, never mind. I expect I'll see you next week?"

Draco wanted to ask _how_she had known, but her icy mask was already back in place. If she was bringing up their divorce proceedings... well. That meant all chances for a cosy chat about what he once wanted were out of the question.

"Of course," he said.

"All right. You can send Dippy to collect the rest of your things tomorrow."

-oOo-

Hermione smiled to herself as she drummed her fingers on the ivory tablecloth. Draco's hair was thinning. She wondered if he still used as many products as he had when they were dating.

_Probably more_, she thought. _To stop the balding process_.

He'd looked downcast, but that was no surprise. His father _had_just died. Hermione suspected his mother's death a few years prior hit him harder, though. After Harry attended Narcissa's funeral, he'd said that Draco had never looked worse — not even during the stresses of their sixth year.

"Ready?" Harry asked, motioning toward the door of the cafe.

"Next year, let's go somewhere Muggle," Ginny said as she stood up, casting her most practiced glare at the patrons who gaped at her husband. Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had made it something of a tradition since James's first year at Hogwarts to go out to dinner on the first of September after dropping the remaining kids at the Burrow.

"You've been quiet this evening," Ron said to Hermione as the four of them walked towards the exit. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm just—oh!" Her foot caught on the strap of a handbag left on the floor, sending her stumbling into the chest of someone who wore a cologne she'd recognise anywhere. The familiar strength of the arms holding her steady only confirmed her suspicions.

"Whoa, all right there, Granger?" Draco asked, setting her back on her feet.

"Yes, thank you."

"It's Weasley now," Ron said.

_Oh, please shut up, Ron,_Hermione thought.

Draco quirked an eyebrow, not looking away from Hermione. "Pardon?"

"It's Hermione Weasley. She hasn't been a Granger for years."

Draco leant closer — too close. The clinking of cutlery and the rumble of dinner conversation faded, until all Hermione heard was her pulse, throbbing in her ears. Ron's hand brushed the small of her back, but Draco didn't step away.

"I will _always_ call you Granger," Draco said.

He waited, his head tilted as if he expected a different reaction than the furrowing of her brow. Something in his expression pleaded with her, begged her for she didn't know what. The laugh Hermione forced through her lips burnt her throat.

"I'd probably always call you Malfoy, even if you changed your name," she said. "Old habits, I guess."

His jaw clenched, but he blanketed over whatever had bothered him with one of his old smirks. "Is that what I am now? An old habit?"

Before Hermione could respond, he stalked away.

"_That_was weird," Ginny said.

"The hell did he mean, old habit?" Ron asked.

Hermione shrugged. This was neither the time nor the place to tell him the truth.

"Who knows? Let's go."

-oOo-

Hermione rifled through her old Hogwarts trunk, not entirely certain why she was searching for a particular item. She pushed aside a few books, her hands lingering on the cover of one in particular, and carefully shifted a long-wilted rose. Finally, she found her quarry underneath her old school robes.

"Hey, I remember that shirt," Ron said with a laugh when she crawled into bed a few minutes later. "I don't think I've seen you wear it since the first year we were married. I didn't even realise you still had it." One of his fingers traced the outline of a faded penguin.

"Mhm," Hermione said. "Night."

"Goodnight, love."

She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the longing clawing at her belly. Draco was an arse. He was an arse who tried to put a wedge between her and Ron by bringing up the secrets they put behind them over a decade ago. Clenching her fists, she slammed her eyes shut.

If she concentrated very hard on the sound of Ron's gentle snoring and the warmth of his body, she could almost make herself believe that she was in no way tempted to go to the Leaky Cauldron, just to see if the arse was there.


	9. Surprise

**Chapter Nine: Surprise**

_2 September 2017_

Hermione stifled a yawn as she listened to Percy drone on about... something. She'd lost track of what the topic actually was. At least he'd grown out of talking about cauldron bottoms. Sunday lunches at the Burrow were a welcome, relaxing addition to her week, but sometimes she itched to gag her brother-in-law.

Two owls swooped over the table and cut off Percy's monologue just as George readied a spoonful of mashed potato to lob at him.. The first bird, Albus's owl, perched in front of Harry. The second, a snobbish looking sooty owl, landed on Teddy's plate. After Teddy unfastened the letter it had dunked in his gravy, the impatient bird hopped a few feet down the table and held a spindly leg out to Hermione. The parchment of the letter bearing her name was thick, with an elaborate wax seal that identified it as being from a solicitor in Wiltshire.

"What in the name of... ?" Teddy said as he perused his own letter, his eyebrows drawing together. Harry, for his part, chuckled over his post.

"Apparently my presence is requested at the reading of Lucius Malfoy's will," Teddy said, sending the rest of the table's occupants into stunned silence.

Hermione tore open the wax seal, half-knowing what she would find inside, half-refusing to believe it was true.

"Me too," she said, though she read the short note three more times, just to be sure.

"What would he want to leave to you?" Ron asked once he'd swallowed his mouthful of roast. Throughout Teddy and Hermione's news, he'd kept eating.

"I haven't the slightest idea," she said. "Harry, what does Albus have to say?"

After clearing his throat, Harry read his son's message aloud.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_You were right, Dad, the hat gave me a choice. We had a chat about whether I wanted to be overshadowed by my brother or make my own path. I thought about all of the stuff you said about Slytherin, and I decided that if it was good enough for the bravest man you ever knew, then it was good enough for me. So, I'm a Slytherin now. Believe it or not, so is Rose._

_She's not as happy about it as I am. I don't think she's written to Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione yet. She won't tell me what the hat said to her, either. James hasn't even teased me about being in Slytherin, since he saw how upset Rose is. I know it's coming, though. I'm just glad I am prepared. Tell Uncle George thank you, by the way. He'll know what I'm talking about._

_Anyway, I'm going to go try to cheer Rose up a bit. Bye!_

_Love,_

_Albus_

"Well," Arthur said, leaning back in his chair. "Curious post today."

Conversation picked up around the table again, starting in tiny whispers among the youngest members of the family. Hermione remained silent. What could the Sorting Hat have said to Rose that she wouldn't share with her favourite cousin?

Molly scooped more food onto several of her grandchildren's plates. "At least they have each other, so neither of them has to be alone in_Slytherin_," she said. "Hmph. Still, maybe I should send Rosie a care package. Poor dear."

Ron set down his fork, shook his head, and forced out a laugh. "A Potter and a Weasley in Slytherin. I guess that old hat has finally lost it. It probably put Malfoy's kid in Hufflepuff."

As Ron, Ginny, and Harry debated how Draco would've got on, had he been sorted into Hufflepuff himself (trying to turn the hard workers of that House into his minions being the most popular theory), Hermione turned her attention back to the solicitor's letter.

"Maybe he saw the error of his ways and has donated his fortune to spew," George said, prodding her arm with the handle of his fork.

"S.P.E.W," she said, mostly out of habit. "And I highly doubt it."

Lucius Malfoy even _pretending_to be interested in house elf welfare was about as likely as Severus Snape coming back from the dead to give Harry a great big kiss for naming a child in honour of him.

"He always did like to use charitable donations to improve his family's image," Percy said.

Not that there was much of the family remaining. If Theodore Nott was to be believed — and, given his father's former profession, Hermione thought he was — Lucius and Narcissa's lives had been shortened by the number of curses they took on Draco's behalf during Voldemort's second rise to power. Time and again, they'd placed themselves between their son and their Master, until their bodies began to wither.

Hermione slid the letter beneath her plate, as if tucking it away would shut it out of her thoughts. "I guess I'll find out what he left me tomorrow. Ugh, they couldn't let us know sooner? I'm going to have to take the afternoon off. Inconsiderate, even now, Lucius. I bet he's left me a portrait of himself so he can sneer and call me Mu—" she broke off when she noticed the wide eyes of her nieces and nephews staring at her, "—ggleborn from beyond the grave."

"If he has left you some sort of... artefact, be sure to get it checked out by the Auror department, okay?" Arthur said.

"Yeah," Ginny said with a grin. "Don't accept any diaries from Lucius Malfoy."

-oOo-

_3 September 2017_

The polished cherry wood conference table looked obscenely long with only four people sitting at it. At the head was Lucius's solicitor, looking every bit as snooty as her deceased client. She was flanked by Hermione and Teddy on one side and Draco on the other.

Hermione was surprised the Ministry hadn't used The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation as an excuse to seize the contents of Lucius's will. Then again, things had changed considerably since Scrimgeour showed up at the

Burrow with Dumbledore's will all those years ago. The fact that Lucius had left an _obscene_amount of Galleons to the Ministry might have also played a part.

The solicitor's voice droned on as she announced to the tiny audience what Lucius had bequeathed to various charities, Draco (good Lord, that was a lot of Galleons), and Teddy (half a million Galleons? Perhaps he'd discovered some remorse in his final years for the way his wife's family treated Andromeda).

Hermione's internal commentary came to a screeching halt when the solicitor reached the last bequest.

"To Rose Cedrella Weasley, I leave Gringotts vault number 6208, containing the sum of one million galleons."

Hermione turned a stunned face to Draco, speaking to him for the first time since entering the room. "Why would your father leave anything to my daughter?"

"I wish I knew."

"He left a letter for you, Mrs. Weasley," the solicitor said, producing two envelopes from her briefcase. "And one for you, Mr. Lupin."

The envelope seemed innocent enough, but Hermione stared at it as if it was the reincarnation of Nagini, ready to strike her dead. In the end, curiosity won out. She unfolded Lucius's explanation.

_Mrs Weasley,_

_If you are reading this, it means two things have happened. One: your daughter is not yet seventeen. Two: I am dead. Before you begin what I'm sure will be an enthusiastic tap dance on my grave, please read the rest of this letter._

_You may recall meeting my late wife in Diagon Alley some years ago. You had your daughter with you, and Narcissa fawned over her. What you don't know is that when she was stroking the child's head, Narcissa took a sample of her hair. Narcissa was understandably shocked to see her own eyes staring back at her when she looked at Rose. She knew of the romantic entanglement between yourself and Draco prior to his marriage. As such, she decided it wouldn't hurt to be sure._

_Imagine our surprise when the paternity spell revealed that Draco is Rose's father. I imagine it must come as quite a shock to you as well. I have reason to believe you were not aware of your child's paternity._

_You're probably wondering why I left Rose an inheritance when I am, of course, unwilling to acknowledge her as my granddaughter. My wife wanted to give Rose a Gringotts vault when she came of age. Narcissa always had a bit of a soft spot when it came to Draco, and she knew he would want his daughter taken care of, illegitimate or no. I never intended to do such a thing, but when Narcissa passed away, I decided to honour one of her last wishes. Consider this to be Rose's money to do with as she pleases, as a gift from her paternal grandmother._

_I had hoped to live long enough to deal with Rose directly, but that doesn't appear to be in the cards. My solicitor tells me you must be informed of any bank vaults that appear under your child's name before she turns seventeen. Since I know you have a tendency to stick your nose where it doesn't belong, I thought it would be best to be honest with you (though, believe me, the action brings me no joy whatsoever). I didn't want you to go snooping around for the truth, as you would undoubtedly drag Draco into it and jump to incorrect conclusions._

_I've left instructions for you to be given this note when your husband is not present. As much as I would love to see Weasley lose his temper when he finds out, it's your right to tell him this news when and if you wish. And if I'm not there to enjoy his reaction, it rather takes all of the fun out of it, don't you think?_

_One last thing: please don't tell Draco that Rose is his daughter. He and Astoria have a happy marriage, but something like this could ruin them — especially given the timing of Rose's birth. I know you wouldn't want to deny a dying man's last wish, even if he is an unconscionable bastard like myself. If Draco asks you about Rose's vault, I would request that you make up some sort of lie. You needn't be too creative; just tell him it's a scholarship or something of that sort._

_I trust you will do the right thing, Mrs. Weasley._

_Lucius Malfoy_

"This doesn't make any sense," Hermione said.

"Really?" Teddy asked. "Mine just says that my great aunt wanted to see that my grandmother and I were taken care of. What's yours say?"

"It, um. It's not possible."

Draco leant across the table and tugged the letter from her hand. She let him. Why shouldn't he read it? It couldn't be true. Even if it was, she would've told him. Lucius couldn't convince her to keep _that_ a secret.

"Always the consummate liar, even in death," Draco said as he handed the note back.

Hermione scoffed. "Of course he was lying, but why? Did he really hate me so much that he wanted to try to ruin my life even after he was dead?"

"I wasn't referring to what he said about Rose. I meant the very last part — the bit about my soon-to-be _ex_-wife and I having a happy marriage."

The solicitor and Teddy looked on, the former with barely concealed disinterest, the latter with a Metamorphosed copy of his father's gentle, knowing eyes. Eager to escape both of them, Hermione stood and motioned for Draco to join her in the hall.

"Draco, really," she said once they were alone. "How could she be yours? It's_not possible_."

"Why do you keep saying that? It's entirely possible. Or do you not remember the night before my wedding?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you need to see the Pensieve memory? We... Christ, you really don't remember, do you?" Extending an arm, he raised his eyebrows — in challenge or invitation, she couldn't tell. "Come with me? I can show you."

Without a second thought for the solicitor and Teddy, she placed her hand on Draco's forearm and waited for the squeeze of side-along Apparition. He took her to Malfoy Manor, now quiet and deserted, and led her into a room on the first floor with fireplaces as big as her old flat and a wide stone basin on a pedestal. Touching his wand to his temple, Draco placed a few misty strands in the basin. Hermione didn't wait for an invitation; she dived in, falling into visions of her and Draco talking about his engagement in the Leaky Cauldron, whirling back to his flat, and entwining their naked bodies.

He'd told her he would always call her Granger.

She watched him ask her to run away with him, read his lips promising he would want her every day. How had she never known? Magic shouldn't have been able to take this away. Some part of her should've remembered and held it close.

What else didn't she remember? Had she only lost that night? And why did Lucius have "reason to believe" that she wasn't aware of Rose's paternity? What had he done to her?

Music signalled the beginning of Draco's wedding and ejected her from the Pensieve, catapulting her out of that sunlit warmth. Gasping, she pressed a hand to her chest as if trying to feel the echo of Draco's memories there.

His voice penetrated her jumbled thoughts, rising over the roar of her pulse. "I wondered why you never showed up." He smiled, soft and regretful, as he leant against the doorframe. "Are you okay?"

"I hardly know. Do you think your father did this? Erased my memory?"

As the question left her lips, Hermione fought to swallow a rising flood of tears. She would not, under any circumstances, give Lucius Malfoy the satisfaction of making her cry. She had to get to Hogwarts and perform the paternity spell herself. Taking Lucius's word on the subject would be madness, no matter what she had seen in the Pensieve, no matter if Rose had been sorted into Slytherin.

"No." Ice splintered his voice. "I have a different suspect in mind."

Hermione shoved Lucius's letter into her handbag and fumbled for her wand. Acres of space in this mansion, and still it didn't have enough air. She couldn't breathe properly.

"I need to get out of here," she said.

"All right, but Granger? We need to talk about this. Soon."

"Yes, I suppose we do."


	10. Revelations

**From this point on this is my work, using Bedelia's plan for the next chapters as a guide and looking over the previous incarnation of this story.**

**I really hope you like it.**

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**Chapter 10: Revelations**

_5th September 2017_

The look on Angelina's face could only be described as one of blind shock; Hermione was suddenly regretting spilling everything after only half a glass of wine. But ever since seeing the pensieve memory two days ago, and reading and rereading Lucius' letter to her, she had to talk to someone. Her mind was a mess, hardly knowing which way to turn. She needed some advice, but her usual pool of people to talk to had shrunk. She could hardly go to Ginny or Harry about this, so she had turned to Angelina. Since her and George had moved into the same village as Hermione and Ron, the two women had grown a lot closer.

"So let me get this straight," Angelina finally spoke, "half a life time ago you had a blazing, passionate, out-of-this-world relationship with Draco Malfoy, you then broke it off, sensibly, because he couldn't commit to just you. You then rekindled said relationship the night before his wedding, the product of which is Rose, but someone, who is yet unknown, obliviated the memory."

When she heard it like that, it sounded crazy. Dropping her head in her hands, Hermione nodded. "It sounds ridiculous doesn't it?"

"It sounds brilliant! Like something out of a bodice-ripping romance. How was it?"

Curly brown hair flew everywhere as Hermione's head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

"I bet it was good, right? Malfoy seems like the sort of bloke who knows what he's doing."

Suddenly Hermione couldn't stop laughing, the sound was almost hysterical. The whole situation was insane; never in her life did she imagine that something like that would happen to her. Then again she never imagined that she would fall in love with her childhood enemy.

Her laughter cut off. She couldn't think about that, about being in love with him. No matter about anything else, she was still a married woman. Everything else was secondary until she proved any of this.

"I need to get that memory back," she said, having no idea how to actually make that happen.

"Can't you do it? I mean, you sorted your parent's out didn't you?"

Hermione nodded as she stood from Angelina's sofa, she always thought much better when she was moving. "I did, but that was easy, it was my own spell. I don't even know who did this to me, and I doubt they'll be keen on removing it."

"There's always Mungo's."

Shaking her head, Hermione couldn't believe she didn't think of that herself. "Will you come with me?" Angelina nodded. "Thanks, there's somewhere I have to go first, I'll meet you back here in an hour, okay?"

Angelina smiled and stood to embrace Hermione. After being told that everything will be okay, Hermione left through the floo, her destination; Hogwarts.

-oOo-

_3rd September 2017_

Legs outstretched and forehead resting on fingertips, Blaise Zabini watched as his oldest friend slowly wore a hole through his rare Persian rug. For the past few hours Draco had slowly revealed the reason for his sudden arrival in Blaise's office. The whole thing played out like something Pansy would read in Witch Weekly – slightly bizarre, and highly unbelievable.

Finally the incredibly stressed blond turned to Blaise, eyebrows raised as though expecting some sort of reaction.

"It's all bollocks, no offence, mate, but there's no way I believe that you managed to wrangle your way into Granger's knickers once, let alone a myriad of times."

Dropping into the opposite armchair Draco almost pouted as he questioned, "Why?"

"It's no reflection on you; I simply remember her being a little..."

"Prudish?" Draco suggested.

"Yeah, _prudish_, to do something like that." Seeing the look on Draco's face, Blaise realised that he was completely serious. Sighing he sat up straight, put on his best professor face, and tried to help his friend. "Well, if it is true, it certainly makes sense how the little Weasel ended up in my house. But what do you want to happen now? The fact remains that she _has_ a father, for the past eleven years she's had one. She might not want another one."

Draco scowled. He hadn't thought of that, though if he was being honest he hadn't given much thought to Rose at all. Of course he'd thought about the fact that he had a daughter, but hadn't gotten quite so far as to what that actually meant.

"You need to speak to Granger as she's going to be the deciding factor in all of this." Draco nodded, and gathered his travelling cloak to leave. He was stopped however, as Blaise spoke once more. "And I know what you're thinking, but just because you're leaving your wife, doesn't mean that she'll leave her husband."

Draco scowled and left. Of course Blaise was right, but he couldn't help wishing that maybe she would. Was it so wrong of him to wish for her? He had the entire time he'd been married. The only reason he'd even been able to marry Astoria without looking completely forlorn, was the memory of Hermione's sweet body, and not so sweet demands the previous night.

Arriving at his flat, a place he seemed to frequent much more often these days, he slumped down into the very settee they had spent one of their last moments together on. As he sat he couldn't help comparing the two women in his life, as he had for the last thirteen years or so. Astoria was the perfect pureblood wife, always on time, always dressed to the nines, and her home had reflected that.

It was strange how Draco still couldn't quite think of the house that he and Astoria had shared as _his_ home. Although it wasn't as though he'd had any input whatsoever into the design. No, that had been all Astoria. It seemed right that she should get the house, it's not as though he wanted it.

Over the years Astoria's more snippy side had come to fruition, and he'd had to catch himself before calling her 'The Shrew' to her face. She would tut and moan, and then out right tell him to leave when he tapped his fingers as he read a book. Or when he left his shoes beside the settee, he would end up with them thrown or kicked towards him. Worst of all, was the elbows Astoria would thrust into his side whenever he used to talk in his sleep.

Hermione had thought his sleep talking was funny.

Reaching for his television remote, he turned it on and pressed play. Feeling nostalgic, he watched as Ducky sang along to Otis Redding in a record shop.

-oOo-

_5th September 2017_

It wasn't often that Blaise indulged in his more theatrical side, but ever since he'd become the potions master and head of Slytherin house it was simply something that came with the territory. He thoroughly enjoyed donning a solemn expression and striding down the halls, allowing his black cloak to billow out behind him. He felt very Snape-esque.

As he walked down a first floor corridor, cloak billowing and a stare that would frighten first years on his face, he heard a voice before him. It was almost familiar, and as he listened he realised that the person making their way towards him fairly rapidly was talking to herself.

"...bloody bastard, if he wasn't already dead, I'd kill him myself..." the rest devolved into grumbles quite unbecoming of a lady, Blaise thought.

Turning the corner he came face-to-face with a woman he hadn't seen in what felt like an awfully long time, though he'd heard enough about her over the past few days that he would recognise her anywhere.

"Mrs Weasley," he greeted, catching himself before calling her by her maiden name as Draco was want to.

"Blaise," she gasped, jumping slightly at his sudden appearance. "Call me Hermione."

"Of course. Can I help you with anything?" he asked.

"Actually yes, I'm hoping to see Rose, I understand you're her head of house."

Blaise smiled and gestured for them to walk back the way he had come and towards the dungeons. He attempted to put everything he had heard from Draco from his mind, with the woman before him it suddenly seemed highly inappropriate to know so much about her.

"I am. She's probably in the common room at this time. I hope this isn't about her sorting?"

Hermione smiled and shook her head. "No, of course not."

Blaise smiled slightly. "And so, you're alright with you daughter being in my house?"

"Of course I am."

"Good. I believe she'll do quite well in Slytherin."

They wandered the rest of the way in silence, with Blaise sneaking glances at Hermione as they went. Of course he had asked Draco about what she looked like now, yet he didn't quite believe him – like everything he told Blaise, really. For some reason he just didn't imagine her to look so good. She had aged, of course, there were the beginnings of creases around her eyes and she seemed bigger than she had been in school – though he put that down to her having two children. He could almost see what Draco saw in her.

During his observations, he couldn't help but notice the slightly red tinge to her eyes and cheeks, as though she'd been crying. And as they walked her hands twisted together, as though she was nervous about something. Though Blaise wasn't sure what it could be about – he refused to give any weight to anything Draco had told him; in fact the conversation didn't even enter into his mind.

After instructing Hermione to wait in the classroom attached to his office, he slipped into the common room and asked Rose Weasley to follow him. She showed no worry or fear, as he would have done in first year. She only held her head high and followed him out.

The proud stance was lost, however, when she saw her mother in the classroom. And after an exclamation, she ran straight into the older woman's arms. Blaise nodded to Hermione and headed into his office, though he kept the door slightly ajar. He was a slytherin after all.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, Blaise didn't hear Rose reply before Hermione spoke again. "Yeah, me too."

"Are you and dad upset with me?" Rose asked. Her voice seemed so fragile.

"Of course not. Why would you think that?"

"Because of my sorting. Al wrote to Uncle Harry."

Blaise chuckled quietly to himself. He supposed it was the same with every family. He remembered how anxious he had been about his own sorted, if he had ended up in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, he'd have never have heard the end of it.

"Oh, it doesn't matter what house you're in."

They were quiet for a while, and Blaise though that perhaps that was it, when Hermione spoke up again. "What's the matter?"

"It's just…the hat said some weird stuff to me, about you and dad."

"What sort of weird stuff?" He didn't know Hermione very well, if at all, but he was sure there was a hint of nervousness in her voice.

"It said it was surprised that you two had me," Rose mumbled. "It said that you used to fight a lot when you were here. Then it started on about what house I should be in and…"

"Go on, sweetie," Hermione prompted.

"Well, it said that I have your brains, but that I have my dad's traits too. When it asked if I wanted to follow in his footsteps, and I said yes, it put me in Slytherin. But I thought you were both in Gryffindor?"

Blaise suddenly had to juggle with the bottle of fluxweed he was holding. There was no way that a child wanting to follow in the footsteps of Ron Weasley would be sorted into Slytherin. The past few days conversations with Draco suddenly became much more prominent in his mind. Could he have been telling the truth?

Covertly, Blaise leant his head out the office door in order to get a better look at Rose Weasley. It was true she didn't have the famous Weasley hair and her eyes were a very pale blue. Looking at her he could see that her skin was much paler than Hermione's. He supposed it could be true.

As he watched Hermione stroked a hand over her daughter's head, before placed it into her pocket. "I can see why that'd be confusing. How's things been in your house, is everyone treating you well?"

Rose shrugged; it was obvious to Blaise that she wasn't happy with the sudden conversation change. But she would go with it for now. "Yeah, I suppose. Some of them aren't, but I think that's 'cause I'm a half-blood."

Blaise had a sudden thought, and racked his brain to remember if Rose's possible half-brother had been among some of the students to treat her bad. Though when he thought back, he seemed to remember them getting along quite well in his class.

"Don't listen to them," Hermione stated. "They're just ignorant and prejudiced.

Rose rolled her eyes, but smiled. Blaise suspected she'd received a similar speech before. "I know."

"Good. Now I should let you get back to your common room. I'll see you soon."

After hugging her daughter goodbye and placing a kiss upon her brow, Hermione shouted her thanks to Blaise and left the classroom. Her left hand clenched tightly in her pocket.

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_Please let me know what you think :)_


	11. Revenge

__Thank you so much to everyone for your reviews, favourites and follows! It means the world to me to know that you're enjoying my taking over this story - I was a little worried.

This chapter hasn't been seen by Bedelia, as I feel really bad that it's taken me two weeks to write it xD. So I hope you like it!

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_6th September 2017_

Sipping his firewhiskey, Draco stopped himself from turning every time the door to the Leaky Cauldron opened. After receiving Hermione's owl just over an hour ago, he'd been on edge to see her. He wasn't entirely sure what he would say, but he figured he'd work that out as they went.

Just as he went to take another sip of his drink, a blur of bushy brown hair whipped into his periphery as Hermione slumped down in the booth next to him. They were hidden away in a corner, out of sight of most other patrons. Not that Draco minded if people saw him with her, though he imagined she did.

"I have to be sure," Hermione said in lieu of a greeting. From her coat pocket she pulled a glass potions vial, from which she retrieved a strand of brown hair. "_Ostendo sum Parentes._"

A white glow rose from the hair, and formed the words; _Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy._

A sound, like the squeak of a mouse escaped Hermione's mouth as she clamped her hand over the still glowing hair. She must have missed a dose of contraceptive potion, she'd been so sure. But then again, with almost a day's worth of memory wiped, how could she be sure?

Draco, sensing Hermione's distress, tried not to smile at the revelation. He had a daughter with Hermione; the little one who had kicked his hand had been his. The idea was startling, though he still wasn't giving much thought to what this _really _meant. Hermione was certainly in a state of shock, and Draco was unsure as to how to comfort her besides resorting to sex (though he wasn't sure she'd appreciate that, even if he would), and so instead asked a question he'd been thinking about since reading his father's letter.

"Will you tell Weasley?" he asked.

Hermione ran a stressed hand through her hair, pulling it back and away from her face as she spoke. "I'll have to. Merlin, this is going to kill him. She's always been a daddy's girl; they've been best friends since she was born."

"I can see why you didn't think she was mine then," he joked. Hermione only looked blankly back at him, obviously not in the mood. "You know if a Malfoy can get along with a Weasley?"

She laughed weakly, but her gaze was still distant and not on the conversation.

Draco frowned; obviously she wasn't in the mood for jokes. "What about Rose?"

Hermione made a noise that reminded Draco of one of Hagrid's Care of Magical Creature classes. A sort of desperate moan that both frightened and alarmed him.

"I have no idea about Rose. She's already panicking because the sorting hat said something strange to her. She's in Slytherin, by the way," she added. That gave Draco a burst of pride to think that both of his children were in his former school house.

"What did the hat say?"

"That it was surprised her parent's had her, as they were always fighting in school."

"Well, to be fair, that could apply to either me or Weasley."

Hermione laughed weakly, "That's true." Sitting back she rubbed her hands over her face. "This whole thing is a mess; I have no idea where to even start sorting this out."

There was a tension headache pulsing along Hermione's brow, which she attempted to rub away. There were so many people to talk to, so many things to think about, to sort out. She wondered if Draco was feeling any of the conflict she did. As she saw him reach once again for his whiskey, she thought that perhaps he did. Though, she thought, he didn't have a wife to worry about or a ridiculously involved family either.

"You know," he said, "I'd like to meet her."

Hermione sighed, another thing to add to the ever growing list. "Of course you do. And you will."

"Really?" Draco wasn't sure why he didn't think she would be so agreeable, he had even begun to think of a counter argument, he was so sure that she would deny him.

"She's your daughter, it's completely reasonable that you'd get to see her. You're going to have to give me some time, though. I need to speak to both her and my husband first."

Neither of them missed the distancing language when it came to Ron. Draco wondered if perhaps Blaise had been incorrect, and that she would leave her husband. He thought maybe it was wrong, in fact, he _knew_ it was wrong to wish that she would, that he was thinking of ways to perhaps convince her that she was still in love with him and not Ron. But knowing that it wasn't right didn't stop him.

Placing a hand upon hers, he gently rubbed his thumb across the soft skin of the back of her hand. He didn't miss the shiver that passed through her, even though Hermione tried to hide her reaction to him.

"It'll be okay," he said, believing what he said.

Hermione nodded and removed her hand. She didn't need to think about how she felt about Draco on top of everything else. Even if he did make her heart beat faster, and twist her stomach into knots. She suddenly felt fifteen years younger, and knew that with the way she was feeling, if he were to ask her to go with him, she would. It was a dangerous line of thinking, and she shifted further away from him. There would be time for that later.

"I went to Mungo's yesterday," she said, changing the subject.

"What about?" The concern was prevalent in his tone, and Hermione almost laughed at his worried eyes and pinched brow.

"My missing memories. I need them back. You wouldn't think that a few hours out of your life would be so important, but it really is." Draco nodded. "As it turns out, I can take a simple potion. It should be ready in a week and I'll receive an owl when it is. Then, within a few minutes the memory charm will be reversed."

"That's great, right?"

Hermione nodded and smiled. That day would have been a turning point in her life; she was at a crossroads, about to take the left hand route. With those memories removed, so was her crossroads. While the feelings and love she felt for Draco never truly went away, they were always marred by their break-up. Having that memory back could change her life.

"Before, you said you had some idea as to who did this to me. Any news?"

Draco shook his head, his good mood at seeing Hermione slipping slightly. "Not yet, but I'm paying someone a visit this afternoon. The next time I see you I should know more."

"Brilliant. It's unnerving, having no idea who could have done this to me. I'll be honest; the obvious person to me was your father." Draco's mouth opened as if to argue. "_But_ if you say it wasn't, then I believe you."

Hermione trusted Draco to discover the truth. It disturbed her to no end that someone had erased her memories, but she had more important things to think about. Like how on earth she was going to break this news to her husband and daughter. When she and Draco had been together, she had given some thought to how she would break the news to her friends. At the time she thought that would have been the most stressful thing, since the war, she'd ever had to do. _This_ was much worse.

"I should go," she said, collecting her jacket and standing to go. Draco stood, too, resting a hand on her lower back as they left the pub. Few heads turned their way.

"I'm going to tell Ron tonight, I'll speak to Rose in a couple of days. I'll owl you when it's sorted, okay?"

Draco nodded before taking her in his arms. "We'll work it out," he promised.

They said goodbye and each apparated their separate ways. Back home Hermione busied herself with preparing dinner, as though serving Ron his favourite meal would lessen the blow she was about to wrought. Flopping into her husband's armchair, she let the few tears of frustration fall.

~oOo~

Draco reappeared in his soon-to-be ex-wife's parlour, making Astoria startle from her spot on the couch. She frowned at her husband but said nothing, as she waited for Draco to speak.

"At Kings Cross you said you knew about Hermione," he said.

"I did." Astoria uncrossed and crossed her legs, a nervous habit that had Draco smirking.

"How?"

"Excuse me?"

"How did you know?"

"Well…I…"

"Come on, Astoria."

She sighed and ran thin fingers through her waved black hair. "You used to say her name in your sleep…and Dippy let it slip."

Draco grumbled under his breath, he knew that bloody house elf would get him into trouble. She'd never taken a liking to her new mistress and used to lament about the absence of Hermione.

"Was it you?" he spat out, at her blank look he elaborated. "Who stole her memories?"

"No, I had nothing to do with that."

"But you admit to knowing about it?"

Astoria at least looked ashamed of herself. "Yes I knew, but it wasn't until we'd started divorce proceedings."

Through gritted teeth he sneered, "Who was it?"

~oOo~

The house elves tending the lavish garden cowered and bowed as Draco strode past, before they went back to their tireless work. The house before him was nothing like Malfoy Manor, but it was grand in its own way, brought back to its full glory using his money; the thought made his insides boil.

After hammering on the oak door, he did not wait for an answer before simple breezing through the door; he was slightly surprised that the wards still admitted him.

He hadn't waited long after Astoria had revealed the identity of the person who stole his one shot at happiness (no, he didn't think he was being melodramatic) to leave. As he marched through carpeted halls he still wasn't sure what he was going to do or say to the perpetrator, but suddenly his days trapped within his own manor with Lord Voldemort came to mind; bringing with them lots of interesting torture ideas.

Which would have been perfect, had he not promised Astoria that he wouldn't hurt them.

Over the years he had thought about what his life would have been like if Hermione had turned up on the day of his wedding. The thoughts had always been tinged with anger, both at her for not arriving, and at himself for being too weak to stop the wedding himself. Now, it was only bittersweet, and the anger had been transferred to a much more worthy candidate.

"Draco, what a…pleasant surprise." He had arrived in a gentleman's study, and stood fuming before the man sitting arrogant behind his mahogany desk.

"Malcolm," Draco greeted, just managing to keep his anger in check. Astoria's father simply raised his brows, not for the first time Draco realised that there was someone in the world more egotistical than his father.

"What can I do for you?" Malcolm asked, folding his paper.

Keeping his face calm and his gaze indifferent, Draco said, "How did you find out about Hermione and me?"

The man before him had the audacity to smirk and shrug. "That was years ago, what does it matter now?"

Draco did not answer; he simply pulled his wand from his pocket and kept his cold gaze on his father-in-law. He was wondering what he could get away with doing to the older man without causing him physical harm.

"Look, I discovered you're little tryst the night before you were to wed my daughter. I couldn't let her get in the way." At Draco's continued silence Malcolm kept speaking, unaware of the rage causing the younger man's hands to shake. "And really, what sort of future could you expect, she's a mud-"

"Don't you dare call her that," Draco sneered, his voice quiet and cutting.

The older man smirked, a sort of pitying look at the younger man's emotional attachments. "And you still carry a torch, I suppose you think that now that you and my daughter are no longer…bonded, that you shall find some sort of future with Mrs Weasley?"

Draco said nothing, only continued to tap his now sparking wand upon his thigh. Spells flew through his mind, each one more painful than the next. But he couldn't do that. Not for the first time, he damned his ethics that prevented him from breaking a promise.

"_Levicorpus,_" Draco drawled, bored of the older man's sneers and schemes. With a yelp Malcolm was hoisted into the air, his smoking jacket trailing around his dangling arms.

"Put me down this instant!" Draco only smirked, before he made the old man spin. He watched him go around and around, his skin turning pink from being held upside down, and yet strangely pale from motion sickness.

"Had enough?" he asked, finally stopping the man's spiralling. Malcolm coughed and spluttered but said nothing, which Draco took as a yes. "I promised your daughter that I wouldn't harm you, and I won't, for now. I expect a written apology to Hermione, no later than tomorrow, if you will."

His voice was pleasant, conversational even, it was only his piecing grey eyes that spoke of the horrors Malcolm would face if he were to cross him.

"You don't want me to remove the charm?" Malcolm spat, still hanging in the air.

Draco smirked, knowing that Malcolm would do what he wanted him to. "No," he said, turning from the old man to leave the study. "We don't need you for that, thank you."

"You're just going to leave me here!"

"Of course not, how forgetful of me," Draco smiled pleasantly and suddenly removed the charm. Malcolm fell with a grunt to the floor of his study. Dragging himself back into his chair he scowled at the younger man. "This was me threatening you, in case you were unaware. I suggest you get that letter written, if not I'll be paying you a second visit, and my promise with Astoria shall be invalid. Are we clear?"

"Perfectly," Malcolm sneered through gritted teeth.

"A pleasure to see you as always, Malcolm." Coolly, Draco walked from the study and back out of the large house. The anger was still boiling inside him, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He would simply have to try to move on. Although, he thought, if he told Hermione…He didn't imagine she'd be half as lenient as he'd been.

Smiling at the thought of what she might do to his father-in-law, he disapparated back to his flat. He would owl Hermione in a couple of days, maybe then she would be a little more receptive to his advances. He went to sleep that night sated, almost excited for the days to come.

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_Let me know what you think, we may be working on a two week update, but I'll try to get it out quicker :)_


	12. Conflict

**__Look at this! Earlier than 2 weeks! Hope you like it :)**

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_6__th__ September 2017_

Autumn wind howled through the flue, causing Hermione to jump at her post in front of the steadily boiling kettle. Her nerves were shot, as her heart had been pounding in her throat for the past two hours.

Ron had come home just as she was putting their dinner of stew and dumplings on the table. He had affectionately kissed her on the cheek, before picking up Hugo and swinging him in the air. Hermione's heart had just about broken at that. How could she shatter her husband's world?

Ron had always been her best friend. He was rash, hot-headed and wore his heart on his sleeve. And they'd had their fair share of ups and downs, but he was her husband and she loved him. But…

And that was the thing wasn't it? That but. There should be no buts in a marriage, not when it came to whether one loved their spouse or not. Knowing what she did, and with Draco back within her consciousness, she couldn't say clearly how she felt about Ron, which wasn't fair.

They'd eaten their tea and Hugo had been put to bed. Now, Ron was waiting for a cup of tea in the living room, after Hermione had told him that they needed to talk. She hated herself for saying those cliché words, but what else was she supposed to say. For some reason she didn't want to alarm him; perhaps that would have been better. Not trusting her shaking hands, she levitated their mugs into the living room, before sitting opposite her husband. She still had no idea what she was going to say to him.

"Ron," she began, "there's something I have to tell you." He frowned at her tone, but nodded for her to go on. "Before we got married, for two years actually, I was in a relationship."

Ron nodded. "I know. You wouldn't tell us who it was," he laughed.

Hermione tried to smile, but only managed a faint grimace. "Yes, well…it was Malfoy."

Ron's brows drew together, it was obvious that he was angry, but he simply shook his head before he spoke. "Okay. Why are you telling me this?"

Hermione's teeth latched on to her bottom lip, a nervous habit she thought she'd grown out of, before in a shaky voice she continued, hating herself for doing this to him. "The night before his wedding, we were together. He decided that he wanted me; he was prepared to leave his family, for me. We were going to run away together." Hearing their plans, Hermione couldn't help but think that they were being terribly naïve. "But someone obliviated me, I have no memory of that night at all."

Ron's face was a closed mask; Hermione had never seen him like that. It was disconcerting on her always open-faced husband. "Why are you telling me this?" he repeated.

Unsure what to say, Hermione passed Ron the letter from Lucius Malfoy. His hand was shaking by the end of the letter, crushing it in his hand he stood to begin pacing the living room.

For what felt like the longest time he didn't speak. When he did, his voice was quiet, very unlike Ron. Hermione's heart was pounding so fast, the blood rushing in her ears; she was almost dizzy with it.

"Is this true?" Hermione nodded, her eyes shining as she watched her husband's face crumble. "Merlin, 'Mione. She's not mine, she's a Malfoy? Why are you telling me this? Surely, he doesn't want her? This all could have been…forgotten."

Hermione's eyes were wide, shocked at his words. "I had to tell you, how couldn't I? And actually, Draco-"

"Oh, so it's _Draco_ now?"

"Don't be childish. _Draco_ does want to meet her."

"And I suppose you're going to let him?"

Hermione frowned. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know, maybe because he's a lousy git, a death eater and _not_ her father."

"The war was a long time ago, Ron, let it go. And Draco's also-"

"No! I'm her dad. I'm the one who changed her nappies, who taught her how to ride a broom, and read her bedtime stories. I'm the one she cried to, and argued with, and I'm the one who healed her when she fell over. Where was he? Off shagging his wife and Merlin knows who else." He ran a shaking hand through his hair, still red, not a single grey in sight. Hermione's heart was breaking, not just for her husband, but for both of them. She didn't stop him as he continued. "Now he thinks he can just swoop him and take her away from me? I won't let him, 'Mione. I won't let you."

"It's not like that, Ron," Hermione hated the pleading tone in her voice, but she couldn't help it. "Rose doesn't know, and Draco's prepared to go at whatever speed we're comfortable with. I know this hurts, don't you think it bothers me? But it's happening, and we just have to live with it."

Ron's laugh was hollow, his eyes blank as he looked at his wife. "Do you have to be so bloody rational all the time?"

"I'm simply trying to be an adult about this; it doesn't have to be any more painful than it has to be."

Ron's brows shot up, and Hermione knew this argument was about to blow, but she was too wound up to even try and stop it from happening. "_Adult_. And I suppose I'm not being an adult?"

"That's not what I'm saying-"

"No, it's exactly what you say. All the time. Sometimes I reckon you think you have three children instead of two."

Hermione rolled her eyes, she couldn't help herself. At this point they were both standing in the middle of the living room, hands clenched and teeth gritted; both as stubborn as each other.

"You're being completely ridiculous."

"Well that's just me, isn't it? Childish, ridiculous Ron. I bet you only decided to go out with me to get over that slimy git."

Hermione felt her ire raise at Ron's continuing use of derogatory terms about Draco. She wouldn't say why, that was something to think about tomorrow, but she knew she hated it. "Will you stop calling him that?! Right now, you _are_ being ridiculous, and childish. Merlin, why did I think this wouldn't turn out like this?" She threw her hands up in agitation, rubbing a palm across her brow to try and massage away the headache steadily brewing there.

"Well tell me I'm wrong, we got together just after his bloody wedding. Is that all I was to you, some sort of rebound?"

"No of course not. I loved you!"

There was a beat of silence, and for all his actions Hermione was reminded that Ron was not half as unintelligent as he would have people believe. "Loved, past tense?"

"Ron—"

Stepping back, he shook his head, his anger seemingly gone. He simply looked drained, like all the air had been sucked out of him. Hermione realised that she did that to him, to her perpetually optimistic husband; she brought him down. "I think I need some time alone," he managed to say, as he headed towards the door.

"No, please—"

"You're going to try to make me stay?" His eyes flashed, his sudden withdrawal simply a mask over the anger swirling within him.

"No, but I should be the one to go. You should stay here, with Hugo. I'll go to Angelina's."

Ron nodded, and Hermione headed in to the bedroom to pack a quick overnight bag. Her throat was tight and her face hot with oncoming tears. She refused to let them fall while she was still in the house, however. As far as she was concerned she didn't deserve to cry.

"I'll be back tomorrow," she said, just before she left. "We can talk about how to tell Rose."

Ron nodded, but said nothing; his eyes were downcast, focused on the carpet pattern. Hermione sighed before leaving, there was no point staying any longer than necessary.

The walk to George and Angelina's was cold. Hermione shivered as she struggled with her bag. She hadn't thought to apparate, or shrink her luggage. Her mind was occupied with replaying the argument over and over in her mind. Her emotions were a tornado within her, swirling and cycling back upon one another. She barely knew which way was up. Then the door was being opened and she was entrenched in golden light as she was pulled through the door.

George only smiled sadly at her before departing, to see how Ron was faring, leaving Hermione and Angelina alone. Hermione hadn't realised she had been crying, the wind whipping tears into her hair. As she caught a glimpse of her face in the hallway mirror, all she could think was, 'I'm a mess.'

"You told him?" Angelina began, once she'd gotten Hermione situated with a cup of tea on the settee.

Hermione only nodded. Her tears had dried but her throat wouldn't work to swallow her tea. Her insides were in turmoil, she never imagined her life would spiral to that.

"Did he shout? Get all red in the face?"

Hermione frowned. "No, he went sort of white. He shouted a bit, but less than I expected. Honestly, I just think he was shocked."

Angelina smiled sympathetically before sipping her own cup of tea. The two women were silent for the next hour, as Angelina switched on the television, and they waited for George to come back. When he returned he flopped tiredly into the armchair, before sending an exhausted smile at Hermione.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

George shook his head. "It's okay, not your fault."

"But—"

"Ron knows that you didn't cheat on him; that you didn't mean to do anything, he's just…hurt."

"I know he's hurt and so am I."

"Just give him time, he'll come around." George stood and dropped a kiss to his wife's brow. "Don't stay up too late. Oh and, Hermione, just so you know, while you're here, I am going to have to make your stay just a little…eventful."

Hermione laughed, giving the first genuine smile of the night. "I would expect nothing less, George."

Angelina turned to Hermione once her husband had gone upstairs, a questioning look in her eyes. "You're not going back are you?"

"What?"

"To Ron. You won't go back."

Hermione floundered, blinking and opening and closing her mouth. How could she answer when she didn't know how to feel?

"Draco's back in your life, you're going to get that memory back and from what you've told me about him, and about what you felt about him, you're not going to be able to settle for anyone but him."

Hermione frowned but had nothing to say. Together they arranged the settee into a bed for Hermione to sleep on. She wasn't sure how she managed to eventually drift off, but when she did her dreams were filled with flashes of grey eyes and blonde hair that left her yearning for more.

~oOo~

_7__th__ September 2017_

The noise in the great hall was difficult to talk over, and it bothered some of the other first years who weren't used to it, but it had never bothered Rose. She was a Weasley after all, and her and Albus were used to rowdy meal times, having so many cousins.

She and her cousin had been sticking together since the start of term. After being placed in Slytherin she hadn't expected a very warm welcome, especially after everything she'd heard her dad say. But aside from a few who liked to pick on her, for the most part everyone had been really nice.

Rose was just buttering a slice of toast when someone sat down beside her. Glancing quickly she saw the blonde hair of Scorpius Malfoy. She'd heard quite a bit about the Malfoys over the years, she was ashamed to say that she hadn't expected him to be as nice as he had been. So she smiled and greeted him, before he asked Albus and Rose about the potions assignment.

When the owls arrived, conversation paused as Rose accepted the Daily Prophet after dropping a sickle into the owls pouch. She wasn't looking at the paper as she unrolled it, instead, her and Scorpius were laughing at Albus' impression of Professor Mayweather. She was therefore horribly shocked to see a photo of herself on the front page.

It wasn't very big, just a small piece, that gave no indication of what the full article was about, in the bottom corner. When she turned to page four, however, she found a double page spread, baring the headline, '_Scandal! Malfoy Love Child with War Heroine.'_ The article surrounded two photos, one of Rose, taken from some family photo, and another of her mother and who she knew to be Draco Malfoy, both smiling, looking very cosy in the leaky cauldron.

Her stomach churned as she read Rita Skeeter's article. It was full of quotes of an apparent conversation between her mother and Draco Malfoy, talking about how Rose wasn't Ron Weasley's daughter; she was Draco's. Rose's face went white; she wasn't sure whether to believe what she was reading. Her mum always said that she shouldn't believe everything that's in the Prophet. She had just about written the whole thing off as a cruel joke when the paper was snatched from her hands.

"This isn't true!" Scorpius scowled, throwing the paper on the floor. His eyes were staring daggers at Rose, as though it was her fault. "My father wouldn't dare touch your filthy mudblood mother!"

People around them gasped, Rose could barely believe it. She'd heard that word, though only once, and she knew it was a terrible thing to say.

"Well what makes you think that my mum would go anywhere near your Death Eater father?"

Once more gasps rang out, and Scorpius' cheeks flushed. Rose saw his hand twitch, and in tandem they drew their wands, the sparking tip of each in the face of each scowling child.

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_Let me know what you think :)_

__**Twitter: missrebecca_12**


	13. Sparks

__**Okay, so this chapter was sent to Bedelia on the 20th, but you know, it's Christmas and people have better things to think about than fanfiction. **

**So I'm posting it this chapter anyway lol, because otherwise you won't get an update 'til the new year and that's just mean.**

**I really hope you like this :)**

* * *

_7th September 2017_

A tickling round about Hermione's nose awoke her, and she swotted her hand at the nuisance, only to end up with a face full of whipped cream. Spluttering she shot up on the settee, and turned to see a giggling Roxanne and George.

"Very mature," she griped, trying to remove all the cream from her face.

"It's an old one, but a good one," George managed to say around his laughter, as he walked into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry about my husband," Angelina said, smiling as she placed a cup of tea in Hermione's hand. "I did try to stop him."

Hermione only laughed. "I expected much worse."

George's voice floated from where he had his head stuck in the fridge. "I'm easing you in!"

Rolling her eyes and sighing Hermione said, "I was afraid he'd say that."

Angelina smiled before sitting beside Hermione with her own cup of tea. Her blue eyes searched Hermione's face, her gaze sympathetic.

"How are you?"

Hermione shrugged, sipping her tea. While she had gone off easily to sleep, the night had been anything but restful. She felt drained and confused. She wasn't sure what her life was going to be like in the next few weeks or even months or years, she didn't even know what she wanted. Hermione blew out a quick breath and placed her tea on the coffee table before her; one day at a time.

"I'm okay," she said, though her smile was unconvincing, Angelina said nothing.

Just then there was a tap on the living room window, and both women looked up to see a magnificent black screech owl tapping on the glass. Angelina stood to let him in, watching as he swooped down and landed beside Hermione on the settee. Regally he held his leg out for Hermione to take the letter clasped in his talons.

Frowning, unsure as to who could be sending her mail with an owl she did not recognised, she took the letter, and jumped as the owl took straight back off into the sky outside. Opening the letter, Hermione's face dropped as she read to the end of the brisk note. Jumping off the settee she slipped her shoes on and after calling a quick goodbye to Angelina apparated right from their living room.

~oOo~

Two cracks announced the arrival of both Hermione and Draco at the gates to Hogwarts, neither looked surprised to see the other but did not speak as they met Blaise at the gates. With no words he led the two parents up the road to the old school, then through and to the Hospital wing.

They could hear the squabbling even from outside the large oak doors.

"He started it!" The high pitched whine of Rose Weasley assaulted their ears as the doors were pushed open.

"Now hold still," sighed Madame Pomfrey. The old woman rolled her eyes as she attempted to remove the numerous boils that had erupted on Hermione's daughter's face.

Hermione and Draco walked to their children's bedsides, taking seats next to each other between the adjacent beds. Draco watched, horrified, as his son tried to rebuff the girl's claims, but managed only a strange gurgle before a stream of slugs poured from his mouth.

In tandem they sighed, and Draco gestured for Hermione to speak first.

"What happened?" she said, addressing both children, but knowing that only her daughter could answer.

Rose sent a scowl at her mother, though it was somewhat lacking due to the boils. Reaching behind her she thrust that day's daily prophet into her mother's hands, she refused to look at Draco. Hermione frowned but looked at the paper; her gasp had Draco reading the article. Neither knew quite what to say.

"That sneaky bitch," Hermione breathed, quite forgetting where she was. Madame Pomfrey sent her a scowl, and she apologised.

"Is…it…true?" Scorpius managed to say, gasping around the slugs.

"He called me a mudblood!" Rose squealed as yet another boil was popped and removed.

Hermione turned wide eyed to Draco, yet before she could speak he had already turned to his son. His voice was firm and stern, and Hermione watched as Scorpius's eyes dropped, unable to meet his father's gaze.

"What have I told you about using language like that? Just because your Grandfather did it, doesn't mean you do. If I ever hear you using language like that again, you'll suffer the consequences. As it is, I think Miss Weasley has shown you exactly what happens should you call her that again. I hope you've learned your lesson."

The young boy nodded, as he continued to vomit slugs into the porcelain basin on his knee. Once again he gasped his question, "Is it…true?"

Madame Pomfrey, having finished with Rose's boils excused herself to her office, leaving the quartet alone. Hermione turned to her daughter, watching as the young girl shifted nervously on the hospital bed.

"It's true," she said. Rose's eyes grew wide and her cheeks grew pink with supressed tears. "Your father and I were going to tell you as soon as we could. You shouldn't have found out like this."

"When you say 'your father', who do you mean?" Rose asked, as a single tear dropped to her cheek. She hastily wiped it away.

Hermione gripped tight to her daughter's hand, making sure her eyes were caught. "I mean your dad. Draco might be your biological father, but Ron will always be your dad. I'm going to have a word with Professor Zabini, and see about you taking the afternoon off so we can talk."

"Mum—" Rose started, confused. Her mother had always put such a premium on education; she couldn't imagine her allowing her to have the afternoon off.

"I know," Hermione smiled sadly, "but this is more important, okay?"

Rose nodded, and Hermione leaned over to place a kiss on her daughters head. "I'll see you soon," she promised, before turning to Draco. He'd been having his own conversation with his son, and when he caught her eye he nodded to say he would be joining her.

"Now," he said to his son, his voice stern, "people are going to know about this, and they're going to ask questions, some aren't going to be very pleasant about it, especially to Rose. What I want from you is your word that you'll look after your sister. From what we've seen, I think we can safely say she can fend for herself, but you are her brother, Scorpius, and a Malfoy. I expect you to conduct yourself like one."

Scorpius nodded as Madame Pomfrey returned from the office in order to stop him vomiting slugs. He cast a glance at Rose; there was no animosity in it, just a sort of frightened curiosity, which she returned.

The two parents left the hospital wing and walked together in silence to the entrance hall. They stood in an alcove by the doors, not quite ready to say goodbye to one another.

"What are you doing today?" Draco asked, "After talking to Rose that is?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm not sure. Going back to Angelina and George's probably, I should get in touch with Ron."

Draco frowned. "You're not staying at home? He kicked you out?!"

Hermione smiled sadly. "No, I left. He needed time, and so did I. I miss Hugo, though, so I doubt I'll be staying with Angelina too long."

They were silent for a moment, before Draco spoke. It was hesitant, as he wasn't sure what she would say. "Why…why not come stay with me?"

"In the manor? I'd rather not."

"I don't live in the manor, actually. Astoria and I had a house together, but I'm letting her keep it. My father lived in the manor alone."

Hermione frowned. "So where are you?"

"In my flat."

The flat. Hermione's heart jumped. He was asking her to stay in the place where they shared so many a rendezvous; where they had shared there last night together. It was _their_ place, and all she wanted was to say yes.

"I'm still married, Draco," she said, as though she was attempting to convince herself more than the man in front of her.

"So am I." His smile was deadly, and Hermione knew if she didn't watch herself she'd become lost to it.

"Okay, well up until recently I was _happily_ married."

His eyes twitched, as though he had been struck a physical blow. It was ridiculous, she thought, when they'd both been happily married at some point, they had to have been; their squabbling children didn't come from nowhere.

His lips pursed, and Hermione tried to keep her gaze from wandering down to them. "Were you?" he asked.

It was a horrible question. It wasn't fair. He'd left her, he hadn't chosen her, and now he wanted to suddenly get back together, after so many years? But no, she had to remind herself, he had come back, he'd wanted her, she just didn't remember.

She didn't want to think about her marriage, not when she was with Draco. She married Ron because she loved him, he was one of her best friends, and he'd always been there for her. But now that she thought about it, did she marry him because she couldn't not be with him or simply because he was there and she was lonely? Horribly, she imagined it was more the latter.

"I thought so," she finally said. Her eyes dropped in shame. Did it make her a horrible person, to have married someone for anything other than pure, unadulterated love? Hermione certainly thought so.

Draco's palm suddenly, softly embraced her cheek, his thumb caressing her soft skin. His hand was warm, and Hermione didn't stop herself from capturing it, holding it to her face. The smell of him was just the same, her pulse jumped and her stomach tied in knots. She felt twenty years old all over again.

"Think about it," he whispered, referring to his previous offer. Hermione nodded.

All he wanted was to kiss her. When she'd looked so sad, he couldn't stop himself from touching her. They stood so close now, closer than was proper, he knew, but he didn't care. Everyone knew now. They all knew about Rose, and maybe people would make up their own mind, but he knew what they'd had; what they could still have.

Dropping his hand from her face, his eyes dropped to their joined hands. This was dangerous, he knew. There would be time for this later. How he wished to just be selfish, to whisk her away to his flat and forget about everything around them. He hadn't felt so light since the last time he had seen Hermione, truly seen her, so many years before. What he wouldn't give to feel that again.

Bending slightly he dropped a kiss to the back of her hand. Her breath caught in her throat at the action. Such a gentle touch and yet it left her wanting so much more.

"I should go," he said. He still hadn't dropped her hand.

"Me too. I need to tell Ron about…everything."

Draco nodded, finally releasing his grip on her fingers. Maybe it was the mention of her husband, but suddenly the distance between them seemed impossible to bridge. There was so much to do, so many people hurt by this. He suddenly regretted not doing more to Malcolm Greengrass, which reminded him.

"Hermione," he said, as she turned to head back to the hospital wing. "I know who stole your memory."

Her eyes widened, she'd almost forgotten about that. "Can we meet this afternoon? At the Leaky Cauldron? I just…there's so much to think about already. I'll owl you."

Draco nodded, happy that he would get to see her again so soon. With a returning smile, but no other words Hermione headed up the staircase, turning back just in time to see Draco vanish through the entrance hall doors.

* * *

_Let me know what you think :)_

__If you haven't before, check out Turncoat by elizaye. It's an amazing, 101 chapters, complete death eater-Draco angsty fic that I'm re-reading for the elevtybillionth time xD.

also, follow me on twitter missrebecca_12 because I thrive off virtual friends :D

And have an amazing Christmas or whatever :D


	14. Take a Breath

**HAPPY NEW YEAR! I hope you all had amazing holidays, back to the slog now. I'm back at uni and I've got 3 assignments due for Friday, which is why it's taken longer than I'd've liked to get this chapter out. Next one is planned though, and partly written.**

**Oh, and if anyone has read my other HP Dramione fic - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - I've been sparked to finish it, but I'm also rewriting it, sorting out plot holes and grammar errors. So if anyone cares, check it out.**

**Also, I posted the first chapter of one of my original fics (previously fanfiction - rewritten about 8-12 months ago as original) www . wattpad user / missrebecca12 Just get rid of the spaces, if you fancy checking it out. If you do read it, please leave a comment - I'm feeling a bit lonely on there xD**

**Anyway, epic AN over. Hope you like this :)**

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Chapter 14

_7__th__ September2017_

Hermione stared blankly into the fireplace she had just stepped out of, sipping at her scalding hot tea, seemingly immune to the burn. Angelina sat beside her, rubbing her back but saying nothing, she knew her friend would open up when she needed to.

"I don't know what to do," Hermione finally said. Her voice was so devoid of hope, empty of any chance at happiness; Angelina wouldn't stand for it.

"It'll be fine. Now, tell me what happened this morning." Her tone was no-nonsense, and Hermione didn't even try to hold anything back.

"Rita Skeeter happened," she groaned. Angelina only nodded; she and George had seen the Daily Prophet. "Rose and Scorpius Malfoy saw it, and crossed wands. Professor Zabini owled me and Draco to sort it out. Needless to say it got sorted, and I took Rose into Hogsmeade for a cup of tea and a chat. You know what she's like," she said, turning her wide brown eyes to Angelina, who nodded. "So mature and quiet, sure she has a bit of a Weasley temper, but she hardly ever seems her age. I can never lie to her."

Placing the tea back on the table, Hermione ran a tired hand over her face. "I told her about me and Draco, about how we were in love, about our last night together." Seeing Angelina's slightly shocked expression Hermione laughed. "Not…not in any detail, she's aware of how babies are made though. Anyway, I told her about being obliviated, about marrying Ron and then about Lucius' will."

"What did she say?"

"She asked questions the whole way, of course. She got very upset when I told her about having my memory taken away. She said, 'So if that hadn't happened, I'd be Rose Malfoy, and none of this would be happening?' To which I said that yes, she would be. She said that she doesn't want to be Rose Malfoy. She doesn't want to see Draco."

Angelina frowned. "But he wants to see her?"

Hermione nodded. "There's time for that though." She paused as she remembered her daughter's face, tears in her eyes as the world she had known crumbled around her. It was more than any eleven year old should deal with, though Hermione knew that at her daughter's age she had faced far worse. The situation wasn't life threatening, it was simply upsetting, and Hermione had faith in her daughter that she could pull through it. "I'm glad she knows, it's one less thing to think about."

Angelina nodded. "So where are you going now?"

"What I really want is to talk to Ron, but he'll be at work-"

"Speaking of, shouldn't you be?"

"I put in a week's holiday, which should give me time to get my memory sorted. I knew I wouldn't have been able to focus on anything with all this hanging over my head. Anyway, I think I'm going to owl Draco, he's found out who stole my memories. In the meantime, I'll pop to Harry's, Ginny's got Hugo for the day, and I miss him."

Angelina allowed Hermione to borrow their barn owl to send a quick note to Draco to meet her in the Leaky Cauldron in two hours. After collecting her things and hugging her friend tight, thanking her for allowing her to stay with them, Hermione apparated away.

~oOo~

Hermione reappeared before the bright red door of the Potter's home, and waited for but a moment before Ginny opened the door. Her red hair was piled atop her head and there was a smudge of flour on her cheek.

"Hey!" she greeted Hermione, ushering her in and through to the back of the house. Hugo sat at the counter top, flour all around him as he laughed at Lily Potter who was scowling as she was covered in the white powder.

"Hugo!" Hermione admonished the nine year old, though it was difficult to keep the smile off her face.

"I didn't mean to, mum," he said, though the grin on his face said that he wasn't sorry.

With a flick of her wand, Ginny had the kids cleaned up and the kettle boiling. Hermione had never really gotten the hang of some of the more household spells. Mrs Weasley had tried to teach her, as she was adamant that there was just no way that Hermione's muggle way got things as clean as magic. But Hermione liked cleaning the muggle way, it was slower, but she always felt more satisfied.

"Right you two, scarper. Me and Aunt Hermione need to have a little chat," Ginny said, to which the children complied immediately.

The two women sat at the newly clean kitchen table, warming their hands around the tea. Unlike Angelina, Ginny wasn't one to sit in silence, and broke it almost immediately.

"Ron came over last night."

Hermione's face dropped into her hands. She could only imagine what her husband had been saying to his best friend and sister. She wondered if this was just what life was going to be like from now on, whether she would always feel like she had done something irrevocably wrong.

"Do you think I'm horrible?" she asked, in a voice much too meek for Hermione.

Ginny's eyes widened. "Of course not! Look, it's like we told Ron last night. This has nothing to do with us or anyone; this is between you and Ron, and Malfoy. All me and Harry can do is to be there for you through everything."

Looking up, Hermione leaned her tired head on her hand. She felt like she'd aged years in the last couple of days. "My life is a shambles," she moaned.

"No it's not. Yeah, things have gone a little tits up, but things will come right. Rose will get used to the whole thing, and you and Ron will be okay, whether that's together or apart remains to be seen."

"Apart?" Hermione asked.

Ginny's pale hands fiddled with the handle on her tea, her eyes downcast as she answered. "Look, I remember when you were with that bloke, before Ron, and I reminded him of it. You were so…happy. I mean, it wasn't something really obvious, and if someone didn't know you as well as we do they wouldn't notice. It was…really nice. Then all of a sudden, it was gone. I thought it had come back when you and Ron got together, but thinking back, it was completely different."

"But I was happy," Hermione insisted. How was it that her world could change so quickly? She _had_ been happy, of course she had. Why else would she have married Ron? Was she heartbroken over Draco? Yes. Of course. But she'd gotten over it, slowly but surely. But now, with him thrust back into her life, all the old feelings, that weren't nearly as buried as she would have liked them, were rearing their heads.

"There's a difference between happiness, and contentment."

"Are you saying…What are you saying?"

Ginny sighed, talking to Hermione was much easier than Ron, but one thing they both had in common was stubbornness. She only hoped that Hermione's would allow her to find happiness, not keep her somewhere she didn't really want to be.

"I'm not saying I _want_ you to leave my brother, but I do want you to be happy. And if that's with Malfoy, then I'll stand by you. This whole thing has made both you and Ron think about things you'd probably rather not, but you need to."

Hermione nodded and finally sipped at her steadily cooling tea. Nothing Ginny said was news to her; it was everything she'd already been thinking. But hearing someone else say it, someone she'd known almost her whole life, was another thing entirely.

"What am I going to do?"

"If I were you, I'd take some time for yourself. You're off 'til Wednesday?"

"Yes, that's when the potion will be done and I'll get this memory back."

"Then I suggest you and Hugo have a few days to yourself; don't see Malfoy, and don't see Ron…outside of family time. Harry and me already told him he can stay here, so you can go back home."

Hermione frowned. "What am I going to tell Hugo?"

Ginny shrugged. She hated seeing her friend so lost and confused, it just wasn't the Hermione she knew. Hermione was always so self-assured, but now she was directionless. She wished she had the answers Hermione wanted, wished she could somehow make everything better.

"I don't know. But it's not your fault, Hermione. If you'd been allowed to live your life as you should have, none of this would have happened. We wouldn't be sisters-in-law, but we'd still be friends, and you wouldn't have to deal with this."

Hermione nodded and drained her tea. She knew she hadn't done anything wrong, but with no one else to blame, it made sense for it to rest solely on her shoulders.

"Apparently Draco knows who did this to us, I'm going to meet him after I've been here to find out."

Ginny's eyes seemed to light up. "Well that's great, what are you going to do? Personally, I think you should report them."

Hermione frowned. "I know I could, but I just want this whole thing to be over. By reporting them, and going through courts I'm only dragging this out longer than necessary aren't I?"

"But, if you don't report them, then they're just going to get away with it."

Hermione laughed, though the sound was anything but jovial. "Haven't they already? For eleven years, no less. Having them punished for it won't change anything; my life will still be as it is."

Hermione stood from the table, determined, and a little drained, to just get through one more day.

"We're all here for you," Ginny said. "Mum might take a little work, but it'll be fine."

"Hopefully." They two women stood in the hallway as Hermione rewrapped her scarf around her neck. "I'll pick Hugo up this afternoon some time," she promised. She felt bad that she'd had all this time off and she hadn't been spending it with her son.

"No you won't. Have the afternoon to yourself, talk to Ron, and then come get him."

Hermione wasn't sure what she had done to deserve such a good friend as Ginny, but she was glad she had none-the-less. After a quick hug, she shouted goodbye to her son before departing for the Leaky Cauldron.

~oOo~

Draco's fingers tapped out an uneven rhythm on the wooden table top in the back corner of the Leaky Cauldron. He had scoured the place for anyone who might be listening in, before placing a silencing charm around the booth he had chosen; no nosy reporters would get the better of them this time.

He had been at the pub for about half an hour, far earlier than Hermione had asked to see him, but he simply hadn't been able to do nothing. After pacing his office for as long as he could stand, he'd left, in the hopes that sitting down with a firewhiskey might settle his nerves. It didn't.

Being nervous around Hermione was simply ridiculous, and it wasn't something he'd felt for a long time. He'd always harboured this love for her, all throughout his marriage. It had gotten easier after a year or so, to be without her, but the feelings never left. Seeing her multiple days in a row was beginning to get to him. It didn't help that he was unsure as to where he stood with her. One thing Draco hated was uncertainty.

While he waited he wondered what Rose had said to Hermione that morning. He couldn't imagine her feelings towards him were very positive at the moment, but he hoped she didn't hate him outright. He hated that they had been separate for so long, the truly formative years of his daughter's life, and he'd missed them. If he had missed his chance with her, his promise to Astoria would mean nothing in the face of his anger.

Before he could dwell on it any longer, Hermione blew through the doors of the Leaky Cauldron. Her brown curls were a tumult around her face, her cheeks slightly pink from the crisp September breeze. Draco thought she was more beautiful now, than she had ever been over a decade ago.

Their eyes caught and he gestured her over to the seat, which she didn't hesitate to take. She looked strung out, he thought. There were bags under her eyes, and her skin seemed paler than usual. There was no familiar spark in her eyes, and Draco wished he could make everything better for her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, pushing his glass of whiskey over, and watching as she took a delicate sip.

"Like shit," she replied, a small smile crossing her mouth at his wide eyes. She wasn't often so eloquent. "I just want this day to end. So go on then, who did this?"

"Malcolm Greengrass."

Hermione's brows furrowed as she attempted to place the name. "Astoria's father?" Draco nodded. "Why?"

"Mine and Astoria's marriage was one of political and financial benefit to both our families. The Greengrass's are an almost entirely pureblood family, one of few left, for me to marry Astoria was beneficial to the Malfoy name. And the money my father was giving Malcolm the day after our marriage was beneficial to him. Our relationship threatened that."

"I see," Hermione said, though she wasn't sure she did really. She couldn't understand the clinical way Draco spoke about his marriage. He had been with the same woman for eleven years, and while the idea of Draco and Astoria together made her feel faintly sick, it was odd to her that there seemed to be no love lost between them.

"Granger," the nick-name tripped off his tongue and sent shivers through her, she was transported back to so many years before with that one word. "I just want you to know, I was a bloody idiot back then. Being with you, had I had the balls to just go for what I wanted – after having Scorpius, I realise that while my family would have disapproved, it wouldn't have been nearly so bad as I thought. I should have been brave enough to just—"

He was struggling, the emotion welling within him and Hermione couldn't stop the tears gathering in her eyes. She placed a soft hand over his clenched fist on the table, trying to ignore the flutter of butterflies when his fingers tangled with hers.

"It's over. There's nothing to be done. As for Malcolm, I think I'm going to wait until I get my memory back, before I make any decisions about whether to report him."

"Report him? He deserves a bloody castration."

Hermione laughed softly at the indignation on his face. He had aged so well, she thought, aside from the slight loss of hair.

"Perhaps." Slowly she extricated her fingers and folded them into her lap. "I'm going to take a few days to myself, if you don't mind. I just need some time to think everything through and try to get back to normal. I should be getting my memory back on Wednesday. After that, I'll be in touch."

There was a distant tone in her voice that warned Draco he shouldn't take her dismissal personally. But he knew what she was going through, could empathise with the lost look in her eyes. He nodded, and aside from a small goodbye, said nothing as she stood and left the Leaky Cauldron.

With a sigh he, too, left, and disapparated back to his flat. It was going to be a long five days.

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_Let me know what you think :)_

__**Twitter: missrebecca_12**


	15. Memories

__**Hallo! It's been longer than I wanted but real life got very real very quickly. I've almost finished my current twilight WIP and once that's done I'll only be working on things that aren't posted, original fiction (I'm entering a writing comp) and this, between exam revision and such.**

**I just want to say a huge thank you to all of you wonderful readers. Bedelia's lucky to have such amazing readers and I was staggered to see how many reviews I got for that first chapter, let alone the reads. I don't get this sort of response on my stories normally. You've all been so lovely and kind as I've taken this over, and I just wanted to let you know how grateful I am :) **

**You're awesome!**

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_12__th__ September 2017_

Watching Mediwitches and wizards bustling this way and that, Hermione was reminded of her great dislike of hospitals. After the war, there had been a long time spent for everyone inside St. Mungo's. For some it was minor fixes, in and out in a day, for others, it was much longer.

She'd been waiting outside the Mental Maladies unit for half an hour; the potion that would remove the oblivation had to be drunk in the same minute it was complete, so it was important that she be on time. As she sat, the forgotten magazine in her lap, she thought on the past few days; she found herself getting lost in her thoughts a lot lately.

The weekend had been awkward, to say the least. She'd gone back home and had waited rather anxiously for Ron to come home. Before this whole thing had come to light, she'd only been anxious for him to come home once before, when she was pregnant with Hugo and she had yet to tell him. Now she wondered if she would ever just be relaxed around her husband.

"You're back," he'd said. The look on his face was unsure, neither knew where they stood with the other, and to Hermione it was just ridiculous.

"Are you angry with me?" she'd asked, blurting out the first thing that came into her head.

His lips had pursed, his ears going a slightly pink shade that told her more than his words ever could. "A bit."

She'd nodded. "Look, we have to get it together. For Hugo and Rose, we can't be all…" her hands gestured to the space between them. "We're their parents."

"One of them."

Hermione's blood had boiled, because as far as she was concerned Ron was Rose's father, Draco, unfortunately, never had been. "No. We're _both_ their parent's. We need to keep it together."

Ron frowned, and when he looked at her, there was something odd in his eyes that Hermione didn't recognise. "Are you saying…so you want to stay together?"

Hermione's stomach sank, because she wasn't sure she did. She wasn't sure what she wanted, and she hated that her belief in her marriage had been thrown into such question. "I don't…it's a bit early for that."

Ron had sighed, and the sound sliced through her. "You're in love with him."

"I don't—"

"No, I get it. You always have been. Don't think I didn't realise how one sided this is. I've always loved you much more than you could ever love me. I've always known it, but I'd take it, because it meant I got to keep you."

"It was so long ago," she said. Ron just laughed hollowly.

"Like that matters. Look, I get it, I know that feeling. Of being in love with someone who broke your heart. You try to get over it, try to move on, but you never do. I thought, when we were together again, that you felt about me that way, like I felt about you, but you didn't. It's how you've always felt about him."

"Ron—"

"I just…It's so fucking shit that this has happened. Why did this have to happen? Why did Malfoy have to die and send that letter? No one would have known, and we could have gone on with our lives like before."

Tears streamed down Hermione's face. She used to be so strong; she was the one who kept their little trio together through the hard times. Now it seemed she was anything but strong, but she'd have to learn to be if they were going to get through this as a family. But hearing Ron talk like that, he sounded like he was seventeen again and Voldemort was after them.

"But it has happened," she managed to say.

The man before her seemed to deflate so suddenly. "Yeah, it has." Shaking his head he dropped into his armchair, and, feeling out of place, Hermione perched herself on the settee, though she'd have rather been standing. "I hate when Harry's right," he mumbled.

"What did he say?"

His eyes were resigned when they looked into hers; it had been so long since Hermione had seen such sadness in him. "He told me that to love someone, to really love them, is to want them to be happy, more than you want them to be by your side."

Hermione cracked a smile. "When did he get so eloquent?"

Ron shrugged, smiling slightly too. They'd said nothing more after that, what more was there to say? And she'd embraced her husband before he'd walked out the door to Harry's, plans made to spend time with Hugo over the weekend. It hadn't been how Hermione imagined the conversation would go, and she wondered when her husband had become so level headed. Though she did wonder if it was perhaps just for her, she'd heard from Ginny that Ron had shouted up a storm once he'd arrived at theirs.

Saturday had been spent in wizarding London with Hugo; they took him for ice cream at Fortescue's, though it was perhaps a shade too cold for them. They then spent a good two hours in Flourish and Blott's. All in all it was a perfect day, and Hermione and Ron were able to put aside their awkwardness and focus instead on their son. Sunday did not go half as well.

There were pitying looks around the table at the Burrow, and for a while it seemed no one really knew what to say to her. They didn't ask about work, because of course she hadn't been, but neither did they ask her what else she'd been doing with her time. Molly said not a single word to her, but fussed over her youngest son to no end. Hermione had never felt like such a pariah in her life. When she'd left with Hugo, Ron stayed to floo with Harry and Ginny; she was given sad goodbyes, as though she was leaving for some far off place.

Hugo, for the most part, had been okay with his father staying at Uncle Harry's. Ron still joined them for dinner every night, before leaving for his sister's. Hermione knew her son didn't understand why his parent's weren't living together, but he didn't question it, though she knew it was coming.

On Monday she'd received an owl from Rose, apparently she'd spent the weekend with Scorpius studying, he was quite clever and they'd found that they worked well together. Her daughter had asked how Ron and Hugo were, but had made no mention of Draco or anything else that was going on in her life. Hermione wasn't about to bring anything up over owl, and couldn't wait for Christmas break to come when she might really see Rose again.

The sun broke through the hospital window, and Hermione closed her eyes to enjoy the warmth. Her heart was racing in her chest, she was so nervous. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about this day, about getting her memory back. On the one hand, she was sure that it wouldn't change anything greatly, but of course she knew that wasn't true; this memory would change everything.

Finally, her name was called and she was led by a friendly looking nurse, at least ten years her junior into a little office-like exam room. On the desk was a clear glass with a slightly frothing purple liquid in it. The nurse gestured for Hermione to sit while she did the same.

"Are you ready?" the nurse asked. When Hermione nodded, she gestured to the glass between them. "Right then, down in one please."

She smiled kindly, though Hermione couldn't return the gesture. Swallowing thickly, she picked up the glass, and without giving it another thought, swallowed the whole thing.

It was like running through the Thief's Downfall all over again, as a feeling like ice spread throughout her whole body; she felt her sins lay bare before her. The memory played like a film behind her eyes, and when it was over her whole body was flushed with both lust and anger. Her entire relationship with Draco spun through her mind, every innocuous comment over the years, every touch, and every kiss, all there in her heart.

Even though Draco had shown her his own memory of that day, it was entirely different having it back. She'd been so happy, scared, but happy. He'd finally chosen her, and wasn't that all she'd wanted? She couldn't believe she'd ever forgotten that, as though she could throw off an obliviation, but it seemed too important to have simply forgotten about it.

Her heart ached as she thought of Draco, and how he must have felt all these years. All the times they met in the street, when she was pregnant and later, the little comments that she just didn't get, they suddenly make perfect sense. Hermione's stomach dropped at how hurt he must have been, to think that she had pushed him so far from her thoughts, when he was anything but.

"Are you okay?" the nurse asked. Hermione opened her eyes to see that she wasn't smiling anymore. In her hand was a box of tissues, it was only then that Hermione realised she was sobbing.

They would have been good together, she realised. It would have been passionate, and fraught, but they would have been good together. They would have had Rose, and they would have been happy. But, a thought stops her, she wouldn't have Hugo.

She'd avoided Draco since the previous week, had kept him at a distance and had ignored his owls. All she wanted now was to rush into his arms.

But she was married. Married to Ron, one of her best friends in the entire world and she was going to break his heart, again.

"Thank you, I'm fine," Hermione managed to stutter out, and after being checked out by the nurse, left St. Mungo's.

She stood at the apparition point, just outside the entrance, wondering where to go. Ron was at work, Hugo was at Ginny's, and it wasn't as though she could go to the Burrow. But really, she didn't want to go to any of those places. Closing her eyes, scrunching her hand tight around the tissue, she vanished.

~oOo~

Hermione held her breath after knocking on the door. She'd arrived there, and had paced nervously on the landing before finding her Gryffindor courage and simply knocking, now, she wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do. Surely turning up, with memories fresh in her mind, wasn't the right thing to do.

But then the door was opening, and Draco was there, hair a mess and eyes tired, and Hermione knew this was exactly right.

"You told me you wanted my first born, that first night." In the run down of their relationship, it was something that stuck her in head, like he'd known somehow. She was barely keeping herself together as he frowned.

"Hermione," he said, "What—" Forgetting herself, forgetting him and the years since she'd been there, she flew into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his shoulder. She felt small, and when his arms came around her, protected.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled as her tears soaked his shirt.

He hushed her tears, and with a soft kiss on her brow brought her into his flat, shutting the door behind her. "It doesn't matter," he said, "You're here."

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_Let me know what you think :)_

_I had some issues with this chapter at first, not knowing how to write it and what to include and what not, but I've ended up with something that I'm very happy with :) So I hope you all like it :)_


	16. It'll Be Alright

**There are many reasons why this chapter has taken forever to get out. It was my birthday (yay) then my mams birthday (yay) I had 6 assignments due in in the last month, and revision has started too (I have about 8 weeks till my first exam), but mostly, it's cause I had no idea where this story was going.**

**When I had Bedelia's plan, it was great! I knew just what I going to write, but now I have no idea. However, I've talked Bedelia, and everything's good.**

**Had an awful lot of trouble with this chapter, so I hope you like it!**

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"Will you please stop fidgeting? Merlin, you're making me nervous!"

Draco scowled at Hermione, but stopped the incessant finger twitching. It was unlike him, to be nervous and unsure, but this was unfamiliar water and he knew he must tread carefully.

After Hermione had tearfully arrived at his flat the other day, they'd spent a long while talking. He made them cups of tea, and when silence fell it was never awkward. Hermione spent most of the evening cuddled into Draco's side, talking into the fireplace and listening to his heartbeat. She'd taken comfort from it, just as Draco took comfort in the steady rise and fall of her back against his arm. It was a dangerous place to be, and both at one point or another wished there could be more between them; the old flame was roaring back to life. But Hermione was married, and the one thing she couldn't do was be unfaithful to Ron. Though she worried that simply being in Draco's flat, taking comfort in his arms, was betrayal enough.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she'd asked.

"Tell you what?" he'd replied, feigning ignorance.

Hermione had snorted inelegantly. "You know what."

Draco sighed, it was something he'd given an awful lot of thought to, and he knew the explanation was far from worthwhile. "Because…I was married, and so were you and you seemed happy."

"And…"

"Okay and I was hurt. You didn't come like I thought you would."

Hermione had shifted to face him, her face was sad and he knew that his reflected that. "I would have done, you know that don't you? I was getting ready to go when it all happened."

He'd nodded and they'd lapsed into silence. Hermione had asked about Scorpius, what he was like as a child and such like. Draco had a feeling she was trying to get him to ask about Rose, but he never did. He was unsure what he wanted to know about his daughter, and what right he truly had to know her. Also, a small part of him wished to get to know her from her own mouth, not her mother's.

The next day Hermione had sent a letter to Rose, explaining everything that had happened and asking if she'd like to meet Draco, her father, officially. Hermione had been nervous the whole time she'd written the letter, and then the entire day in her office while she'd waited for her daughter to reply.

It had taken her two days.

But now there they were, standing in the Hogwarts entrance hall. Draco was in awe of the woman beside him, of the strength she had shown in the last week, and even longer. When he'd told her so she'd shrugged, and asked him what else she could do. He didn't tell her that she could have run, could have ignored his memory and his father's letter and continued with the life she had. But he knew her, and knew she never would have done that.

He trapped his twitching hands in his trouser pockets, but that did nothing for the nerves clawing in his stomach or the rapid drumbeat his heart seemed to be marching to in his chest. Frankly, he was petrified of meeting his daughter.

Hermione had suggested that Scorpius come along, too, to perhaps allow ease of conversation for Draco, but he'd declined. Having his often temperamental son there would be anything but helpful. Hermione's husband, too, had been asked, though he too had declined the invite. Draco didn't blame him.

For all that he disliked Ronald Weasley, through childhood rivalry to adult jealousy (though if ever asked he would deny most fervently that he could ever be jealous of a Weasley, even when it came to Hermione); he felt sympathy for the man. While he couldn't equate what he was feeling, discovering the daughter he'd cherished for eleven years was not of his own blood, to his own life experiences, he could imagine what it felt like, and knew it couldn't be pleasant.

Hermione and Draco had decided to keep their marriages as separate as possible. While their families were colliding, their separate marital breakdowns needn't. So he was not party to any ideas of custody, living arrangements for the children or other such things on her end, just as she was not aware of the same on his. The only thing Draco knew for sure was that Hermione living him was very temporary.

They'd been careful in their arrangement. His flat had two bedrooms, and she had moved into the spare. But while he had yet to enter her room, he knew she hadn't unpacked anything; she was still living out of a suitcase. Between them both going to work, and Hermione eating with her husband and son, they rarely saw one another long enough for decent conversation. It was usually only long enough to watch one of the films she'd brought. Though he was aware she was looking for a new house.

Ron, it seemed, would be content in a fairly large flat in the centre of wizarding London; close to work but big enough for his children to stay. Hermione on the other hand needed a garden; she craved open space and rooms to house her books and many other oddities she'd been denied in her old home. When he'd asked if she was going to miss the old house, Hermione had shaken her head, stating that there would be far too many memories to live comfortably there.

He'd understood completely.

The manor was empty. The house elves now had full run of the place, until their new master arrived to take up permanent residence. Yet he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. The house held so many memories, both bad and good, though even the good were mostly bittersweet. He was unsure he could live in a place where so many of his childhood torments had taken place; wasn't sure if he wanted his son to live with them, also.

Yet before he could think any more of their current situation, his daughter came creeping down the stairs escorted by Zabini.

"Morning, Hermione," he greeted, "Draco."

The men shook hands as Hermione embraced her daughter. Out of earshot, Blaise asked Draco how he was coping.

"Well enough, you should really ask her." He gestured with a nod of his head to where Hermione was fussing over her daughters curls.

"Maybe when we know each other better, which I'm assuming we will." Blaise smiled and it was infectious. "Anyway, I'd best be off. Have her back by dinner."

"Yes, mum," Draco joked, smile still in place. He kept the smile as he turned to face the woman he loved and the young lady he was desperately hoping to impress.

"Rose," Hermione said, "you remember Draco Malfoy."

The young girl nodded but said nothing as she scuffed her toes on the flagstone floor. "It's nice to meet you," Draco said.

There was a beat of silence before Hermione spoke again. "I thought we could head into Hogsmeade, get some lunch and have a chat. Sound good?"

Again Rose only nodded, so the trio set off into the little village.

Draco felt out of place the entire walk down, and had no idea what to say to either Rose or her mother, so was incredibly grateful that Hermione had no such issues filling an awkward silence.

"How's school going then? Enjoying your classes?"

Rose nodded, and after chancing a glance Draco's way, kept her gaze on her mother as she answered. "Yeah, Charms is a bit naff, I feel like I already know most of it, but I like Potions."

"Well that's great! Potions was never my favourite subject."

When Draco spoke he realised he did so without worrying about the child between them, and hoped he could continue being so natural the entire afternoon. "That's only because Snape hated you."

Hermione scoffed. "And I suppose you loved potions; after all you were the teachers pet."

"Is that jealously, Granger?" He smirked, and enjoyed the blush that spotted her cheeks. But she only harrumphed jokingly.

Rose walked bewildered between the adults, confused by their bickering, though she understood that her mother wasn't really angry, not like when her dad used to pick on her. She was unsure what to make of the blond man her mum seemed so friendly with, and she hoped that she could pluck up the courage to ask the questions that were burning in the back of her mind.

Finally they reached the Three Broomsticks. When he was younger, though he'd never been formerly barred from the wizarding pub, Draco had avoided it like the plague, the shame of what he'd done to Madame Rosmerta would never truly go away, but after stumbling in one day with Blaise, he'd realised that the old witch was far more forgiving than he'd given her credit for. The little family entered and chose a booth near the windows, and Draco left Hermione and her daughter alone in order to buy them all a round of butterbeers, but also to take a moment to simply breathe.

There were many moments in his life when he'd been nervous and frightened, times he'd tried very hard to move on from and forget, but never had he felt that something mattered as much as the next few hours.

After he returned with the tankards, there was a moments silence as they all took a sip of the sweet drink. Hermione was unsure how to initiate conversation, and Draco was waiting for Hermione to take the lead. Thankfully, their daughter had gumption enough for both of them.

"So…you're my dad?" she asked.

Draco nodded, his throat almost closing around the words that wouldn't work their way out of his mouth.

Rose opened her mouth as if to speak, before closing it abruptly. Hermione nudged her daughter. "You can ask us anything you'd like."

"Well…it's just…Okay, I get why you," she said looking at Hermione, "didn't know, you'd been made to forget, but why didn't you do something?" she asked, looking now to Draco.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"Well, if he knew you'd…been together," she shivered just slightly as she spoke, "and you didn't turn up to stop his wedding, why didn't you go find her? Why did you get married if you didn't love _her_, you loved mum?"

Draco had thought the same thing himself, and he had an answer, though it wasn't one he felt comfortable sharing with this girl. The fact was it wouldn't help his image in her eyes, but he knew that if he was going to make any headway with his daughter, he was going to have to be honest.

"Because I was scared." When Rose frowned he continued, "I bet your mum's told you what her life was like at your age?"

Rose shrugged and nodded, but Hermione's stern eyes assured Draco that her daughter wasn't aware of half of what her mother had gotten up to in her school years. "Well my life wasn't like that. I'd been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, thinking many people entirely too below my notice. I was spoiled, and I both respected and feared my father.

"However, when I was thirteen things started to change. To keep it short, we'll say that my family went through a rather horrific time, and when we came through it, we were only stronger as a family. There was nothing I could do to disappoint either my mother or my father, and I believed that by marrying Astoria I would fulfil that. What I've later learned, through having a son of my own, is that my parent's, while they would have been angry and perhaps disappointed, would have supported my decision to be with your mum, had I given them the chance."

"So you just…didn't want to disappoint your mum and dad?" Rose asked, to which Draco nodded. "That's just stupid."

"Rose!" Hermione admonished.

"But it is. If you'd been brave enough to stand on your own we'd be a family, now everything's all complicated."

Hermione sighed and ran a hand through her daughter's hair. "It is, and we're sorry, but it will be okay." Rose nodded, and Hermione continued. "Was there anything else you wanted to ask us?"

Rose shrugged and looked solemnly into her butterbeer. Draco wasn't sure what to do, when he noticed a small pin attached to her school robe.

"So you're a Harpies fan," he said, gesturing to the badge.

"Yeah, Aunt Ginny played for them."

"I'm aware, one of the best damn chasers that team had."

"Yeah she was amazing," Rose gushed. "Dad likes the Cannons, but they're so naff!"

Draco smiled and tried to pretend that it didn't hurt when she called Ron her dad, he knew he had no right, not when they were only just getting to know one another.

"Yeah, practically always bottom of the league, but you've got to admire their fans resilience." He refused to say a bad word against Weasley in front of Rose. "Personally, I like Puddlemore, always have."

"But it's easy to like the ones who always win," Rose argued.

"You're right, of course, but at least my team do win more than once in a lifetime."

Rose smiled, before quenching it, as though just realising that she didn't want to get along with this man.

"How'd you like some sandwiches?" Hermione asked, not waiting for an answer before she was up and at the bar, sneaking glances at her daughter and her father.

She knew Rose was going to be stubborn, that she would stick to her guns for a while, but the fact was that they would get along, they had too much in common not to. So she watched, telling Rosmerta to take her time, as Draco made Rose laugh, and the loving look that entered his steely eyes when he looked at their daughter. It would be alright, she thought, in the end.

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_Let me know what you think_

_Next chapter - Ron._


	17. Family

I'm so sorry it's been so long. Life's been insane lately, and I'm about to start my exams, which run all throughout May.

I hope you like this chapter, I'm going to try to get a few written over the next month, and then I'll hopefully be able to post a few in a row :)

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_15__th__ September 2017_

Hermione paced the carpet, and contemplated that she was doing that an awful lot lately; worrying about her life and the people in it. It hadn't been long since she'd left Rose at Hogwarts. The meeting between her daughter and Draco had gone surprisingly well; she only hoped that Rose would continue to be as open towards her father as that. Now, though, she needed to speak to Ron.

Hugo was at her parent's, staying the night and being spoiled rotten no doubt, but Hermione wasn't sure how long this would take, and she didn't want her youngest to be within hearing distance of what could potentially a very explosive meeting. So far, Ron had been calmer and more understanding than Hermione had given him credit for, she wasn't sure how long that would continue.

The sound of a key in the lock made her pacing stop, and she stood wringing her hands facing the kitchen, through which the back door led. Ron dumped his bag on a kitchen chair, kicked his shoes off by the door, before stepping through in to the living room. He pulled up short when he saw his wife standing, looking nervous, between their armchairs, and ran a hand through his hair as he tried to think what to say.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. They'd already made plans to eat separate that night, and had been looking forward to a quiet night with his son.

"I wanted to talk to you," she began. Ron groaned; the tone of her voice was one of no nonsense business. He'd been hoping to put this conversation off for as long as possible, apparently Hermione was ready to talk.

He gestured for her to go on, and dropped into his usual chair. His shoulders were tense, and Hermione wished this could be an easy conversation, but of course it would be anything but.

"Rose met Draco today." Ron frowned but didn't say anything, so she continued. "It went quite well, they seemed to get along anyway. I'm hoping it'll be something that happens more and more often. But we need, we need to sort some things out."

"Go on."

"Well, I need to find somewhere to live."

Ron scoffed. "I thought you were getting cosy with Malfoy?"

Hermione frowned at his malice, but continued. "Well I can hardly stay there forever. It's only temporary. Anyway, once I have somewhere, we're going to have to sort out…visitation."

"Visitation? You mean a few hours a week that I'm actually allowed to see my children?"

"I was thinking something a little more fifty: fifty."

Her husband's eyes rolled. "Right and how will that work? One week he's with me, the next he's with you? And when he's with you, am I not allowed to see him at all? But then, he's at Harry and Ginny's half the time anyway, so why not just leave him there and we'll go see him then. How does that work?"

"You're being ridiculous."

His face twisted into one of shocked disbelief. "I'm being ridiculous? I'm not the one swanning off with some old boyfriend."

"It's not like that, and you know it." Hermione took a deep breath, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. "This is difficult for me too, you know? I _hate_ this. But the fact is this is happening. I can't stay married to you, and I can't live with you, but we have a son, so we need to sort this out."

Ron was quiet a moment, before his eyes narrowed. "We've just been talking about Hugo, what about Rose when she comes home?"

"Well-"

"Did you expect me to just…give her up? She's yours and Malfoy's, so what claim do I have, is that what you thought? She's my daughter, Hermione, and she has been for the last ten years of her life and she will be for as long as she'll let me be her dad."

"I didn't think that. You'll always be her dad, I just…I wasn't sure what to do about it. Hugo is easier to sort out. And Rose won't be home for a few months, we have time for that."

"If you try to take her away from me-"

Hermione laughed a hollow almost hysterical sound. "You'll what? When did this turn into me against you? We've been married for over ten years, doesn't that mean something? Or was our marriage so weak that as soon as it begins to break we turn on each other?"

Ron slumped back into his armchair, face in his hands. She was right, of course, but he couldn't help being defensive. He felt pushed into a corner, forced into something he didn't want to happen.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"So am I."

Sitting in their respective armchairs, Hermione wondered when her life would be simple. For the last decade she'd thought that maybe finally her life had reached a plateau, that maybe she wouldn't have to fight for her life, or worry about having her heart broken anymore. As it turned out, the universe had one last surprise up its sleeve for her.

"We need to just…try and be sensible about this. We need to step back and be rational."

Ron smiled sadly through red-rimmed eyes. "You're always right, Hermione."

She frowned. "Are you being serious?"

"Yes. I am. This is a horrible situation, it's emotional, obviously, and I know I can get a bit…hot-headed."

"You're a Weasley."

"That I am."

Feeling better than she had all evening, Hermione pulled a notebook from their sideboard and a freshly sharpened pencil. "Okay. We'll deal with what's happening with Rose closer to Christmas, but I was thinking that maybe you should go see her. Let her know that you'll be there for her, do you think?"

Ron was already nodding. It was something he'd wanted to do, and had already talked to Harry about getting some time off of work. "I can do that. And I promise I won't say anything bad about Malfoy."

"Thanks." Hermione made a note on her page. "So, Hugo. For right now, I think he's best here, until I have a more permanent living place sorted. But after that, I was thinking that he could stay with each of us for three months at a time? Or maybe six? We'd all spend birthdays, Christmas and things together, and I'd like to think we'd still see him on a regular basis no matter where he is. But he would be living with one of us for half the year."

Ron could feel his stomach churning and his heart beating faster, but he wouldn't let his emotions get the better of him, there would be time for that later. "I think that's best. His life needs to be as unaffected as possible really." Coughing to clear his throat, he sat a little straighter in his chair. "I was thinking, maybe I'll get my own place."

Hermione's gaze snapped up from the notepad on her lap. "Oh?"

"Yeah. This is…well this was _our_ place, and I feel weird being here without you. I was thinking I'd get somewhere a little closer to work, but somewhere that's still big enough for Hugo."

Hermione nodded. "I think that's great, do what you have to."

They shared a smile, before continuing to speak well into the night. Not many decisions were made, but when Hermione finally left for Draco's, she felt somehow calmer than she had in a long time, knowing that her husband would be okay.

_20th September 2017_

"Mr Weasley," Blaise spoke, trying to keep the scorn from his voice. He'd had little interaction with his old school classmate over the years, but simply seeing that red hair was enough to bring old prejudices rushing back. "I've set Rose up in here," he gestured to an unused charms classroom. He'd been surprised to hear from the youngest male Weasley, and yet not at the same time. Rose Weasley had been having so many visitors lately; one more didn't really shock him.

"Cheers," Ron commented, before stepping through.

Rose ran straight to him as the door shut behind him, throwing her arms around his neck as he picked her up like he did when she was much smaller. "I've missed you," she whispered.

"I've missed you, too. Come on." He led Rose over to one of the empty desks and sat by her side, just enjoying being with his daughter, he didn't realise how much he'd missed her.

"How're you doing?" he asked. Rose only shrugged, looking at the worn wooden desk. "Yeah, things have been a bit…weird."

"I'm really angry, dad." Ron hated hearing his daughter so upset, and pulled her quickly into his arms like he used to when she was little. "I don't know why that man had to do this, and I know it's not mum's fault, but I'm annoyed at her."

Ron sighed. "I know, but it's not her fault. You can't blame your mum."

Rose nodded. "I was feeling really homesick, before all this happened, but now I'm quite glad I'm here."

Ron laughed and squeezed her tight. "I bet. Look, things are going to be a bit up in the air for a while, but I just wanted to see you and let you know that I'll always be your dad, so long as you want me."

Tears gathered in his daughters eyes. "Why wouldn't I want you? You're my dad."

Ron hushed her and started rocking her back and forth. Though he disliked the reason, he was grateful that his daughter allowed him to hold her like this; it had been a while since he'd been able to. "I'm not going anywhere. Now, tell me about school."

After clearing her throat, Rose moved from her dads lap back into the chair next to his. Ron missed holding her, and wished, not for the first time, that she didn't have to grow up. But he enjoyed listening to her talk about her classes, and laughed along when she talked about playing pranks with Scorpius Malfoy, though the name made his ire spike. When he finally left her, just before dinner, he was glad he'd been to visit his daughter, and felt reassured that with everything else going on in his life, his daughter would always be a part of it.

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_Let me know what you think :)_


	18. Promise

__I'm so sorry it's taken me over two months to get this next chapter out to you. I feel so bad! Frankly my life's been a bit spirally as of late. I did my exams, found out I'd failed two and I'm now in the position where I've done 1 and have 4 days to revise for the next. I've also been trying to find somewhere to get married and been making a dress :D

Plus, my muse for this story vanished. But it's back and I already have half the next chapter finished. I'm hoping to do that one and chapter 20 and send them both to Bedelia next week, then to post them on a two week posting schedule, at least until I have some more chapters behind me :)

Hope you like it :)

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_29__th__ October_

Autumn sunlight filtered through the half open lemon roller blinds, sending rainbows skittering across the desk for the cat to chase about. There was the fresh smell of gingerbread in the air as Hermione shifted the vase of flowers for the fifth time in barely ten minutes. She was so nervous, but she had no idea why.

The last month had been busy, though it was more emotional than that she was actually doing anything. A couple of days after her conversation with Ron, they went to the Ministry and met with someone in the Department for Domestic Law, to file for divorce. When they'd had to explain their reasoning, Hermione had barely known what to say, so she was glad when Ron had taken the question upon him and had stated that they simply didn't love each other anymore, but that they were still friends and they both wanted it to be as amicable as possible.

They had also sorted out living arrangements for Hugo, with his involvement. He'd decided he wanted to stay with his mum up to Christmas, then his dad through summer. But of course once he started at Hogwarts, they would have to revisit those plans. Hermione had to wonder at her son, and how he had become so entirely level headed with her and Ron as his parent's. He was upset, she knew, yet he seemed to take everything in stride; she only hoped that would continue.

Just then a knock sounded on the door, and with a little jump in her heart Hermione opened it. Draco stood in jeans and a plain shirt, just as she'd asked, looking quite uncomfortable having had to walk from three streets away from the apparition point.

"Why you couldn't have just moved to a wizarding neighbourhood, I don't know," he grouched, stepping in and enveloping her in his arms. Hermione shut the door around him, before pushing him back. Draco frowned, but smiled before walking further into her new home.

"Go on then," he said, "give me the grand tour."

Hermione smiled and walked him through the rooms in her house. Her green kitchen, brown living room, through the cream dining room, and up the stairs into Rose's purple room, Hugo's red room, and finally to the door of her own.

"And this is mine," she said, gesturing to the oak stained door.

Draco smirked. "Aren't you going to show me in?"

Hermione's hands twisted around each other as she stepped past him and headed back down the stairs. "I don't think that would be the best idea."

"Why not? It's just a bedroom."

"Yes, but it might give you ideas," she tried to smile it off, but it was wiped from her face as he stepped in closer to her, until their chests were almost touching and Hermione could feel the heat of him.

"And would that be such a bad thing?" he whispered. His hand reached up and he gently ran his fingers along her cheek, Hermione tried to stop leaning in to him, to no avail.

Stepping back sharply, Hermione shook her head. "No, we've talked about this, we can't do this. I won't."

"Why not? You're as good as divorced and you've damn near told me you love me. What's stopping this?"

Clearly exasperated, Hermione shouted, "I'm married, Draco! And that means something to me. I've caused Ron enough pain to last him a lifetime, and I won't do this to him."

"He doesn't need to know." But even as Draco spoke, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

"Right, yes, okay. But I'll know. It'll mean something to me."

"What is it? Do you still have feelings for him?"

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "Just because I got that memory back, doesn't mean that I stop loving my husband. All it did was slot into place along my past, and yes, it changed things. He's been a part of my life since I was eleven, that isn't going to suddenly vanish. We have a son together; he didn't turn up by accident. And I know this isn't what you want to hear but it's the truth." Stepping slow, she crossed to him and took his hands in hers. "I do want to be with you, there, I've said it. Better? But you're going to have to wait. Why do you think I moved to a muggle estate? I need some quiet in my life, and unfortunately, shacking up with you right after I divorce another member of 'The Golden Trio' isn't going to work so well for me or my children."

Draco scowled but smiled. "I always hate it when you're right."

"I hear that all the time," she said, sighing.

Draco laughed and turned to walk in to the kitchen. "I'm sure. Any chance of a cuppa then?"

Hermione smiled. As she followed Draco she wondered at how easy it would be to slip back into their old relationship, at times it felt like the last ten years had never happened. It was a dangerous place to be, especially since Draco's divorce had become final two weeks ago. The fact remained that they still had a lot to work through. Old feelings might have resurfaced, but that didn't take away the problems they'd had years before. A part of her still worried that he wouldn't commit to her; he might have been prepared to run away with her a decade earlier, but how did that translate to an adult relationship?

Before her thoughts could spiral any further a knock on her door brought her out of them. Skipping to the door she pulled it open to reveal her soon-to-be-ex mother-in-law. "Molly," she said, obviously surprised.

The Weasley matriarch smiled good-naturedly and walked past Hermione into the living room. "I know you weren't expecting me, but I just had to come see you. Now, we haven't spoken much, and I'll admit it's because I was angry. But I just want to know if you're sure about this divorce business?"

Hermione sighed, and smiled sadly. "I am, Molly. We both are."

"Well now, I'm not sure that's true. I know Ron still loves you, and I know he'd take you back, if you asked."

Biting her lip to keep the angry retort in, she breathed in deep before calmly saying, "That's lovely, but I don't need him to take me back, and I'm quite sure he doesn't want me either." Sitting next to her mother-in-law, she took Molly's hand in hers. "I know this is hard, for everyone. But we were friends a lot longer than we were married, and we will be even when we're not anymore."

Molly sighed, but smiled through tight lips. "I know. It's just so sad thinking the two of you didn't work, and little Hugo, too."

"Hugo'll be fine. We both will."

Molly patted Hermione's knee reassuringly before standing. "Okay. You're still coming for Halloween?"

Hermione was about to reply, when Draco chose that moment to come out of the kitchen carrying two cups of tea. "Your cups aren't nearly…" but he trailed off when he saw the glare Molly was sending his way.

"Now I see," she said, shaking her head disappointedly at Hermione. "This is why you're leaving my son, why you're breaking up your family. For some ex-lover, now that he's decided he wants you and your daughter."

"Molly –" Hermione had been about to say that it wasn't like that, except that to anyone on the outside looking in, it was exactly like that.

But Molly was beyond listening. With her hand in the air between them, she headed to the front door. "Come on Sunday, if you must, Hugo will no doubt want you there." Then she slammed the door and was gone.

Hermione stared desolately at her front door, wishing there was anything she could have said in her defence. Draco placed the cups down on the side board, before walking up behind Hermione and rubbing her arms. "She can a right bitch, Mrs Weasley, take no notice."

"Get off me," Hermione grumbled, shrugging out from under his touch.

"Come on, Granger. She's just upset, and she's lashing out. Don't take it to heart." Hermione turned and looked into Draco's slate grey eyes. His widows peak was receding, and his hair might have been going grey, though it was so light you couldn't tell, and there were lines around his eyes and in his forehead, but he was still the same man she had fallen in love with all those years before. He was the man she had shared so much of herself with, who had hurt her in the worst way, but had loved her unconditionally.

She knew Molly was upset, and she knew that once her divorce became public knowledge, which it inevitably would, she would only get more, if not worse, words from people who didn't even know her. She knew that just because people were upset, didn't mean she should turn on the person who was there for her now.

"I'm sorry, it's just…well it's like she said, like Ron's said before; I'm divorcing my husband to swan off with an ex-lover, who was an enemy during the war. That's what's happening here, isn't it?"

Draco frowned and the lines got deeper, as he ran an annoyed hand through his hair. "As much as I wish that were true, we know differently. Had the world turned right, and had Malcolm not been such a selfish prick, we would be married now. We'd have sent Rose off to Hogwarts and both been there when she told us she was sorted into Slytherin."

"But no Scorpius or Hugo."

Draco's head dropped. "No. I love my son, more than anything, so maybe I'm glad this happened the way it did. Even though a very large, very self-centred part of me wishes that I could have had you to myself all these years. But we can't change what's happened. That's done. Now, we have to deal with the fallout." Crossing to her, he took her by the hand and sat her down on her settee. "People are going to be angry, and people are going to shout and call us both all sorts of things; unfortunately, you're going to get the worst of it – people expect me to be a tit. But I want you to think about life when this blows over. About you and me, and Hugo and Rose and Scorpius, in a big house together over the summer holidays. Your parents will visit, as will Weasley and his lot. We'll have the Potters over, and Zabini. And it'll be good."

Hermione frowned into her old lover's eyes, wondering when he had become so optimistic. He'd hidden behind snark and cynicism years back, and while he could be tender, even sentimental at times, there'd always been some desperate quality to it. Now, he was the one making her feel better, with a vision of a life she wanted more than anything. She contemplated if it was only her that had yet to truly grow up.

"Like you'd ever willingly invite Harry to our house," Hermione joked, cracking a small smile beneath tear filled eyes.

"Well, I've heard love demands sacrifice," Draco replied.

Hermione leaned forward and rested her head upon his shoulder, and felt happy when his arms squeezed her tight. "We're going to be okay, Granger."

"Promise?" she asked her voice like a child.

"Promise."

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_Let me know what you think :)_


	19. Costumes

Hello! Here's another chapter :) (I said 2 weeks :D and this time I stuck to it) Chapter 20 is about half way done, I'm going to try to finish it today and get it sent to Bedelia tonight, and then tomorrow I go on holiday! So I'm aiming for a 2 week posting schedule. But I'm away for about 10 days, then I'm working full time for 4 days, THEN I go to the TwiFicMeetUpUK in York for the weekend, then I'm working full time for another 4 days, and then I'm finally off!

So I'm aiming to update in the week after I come back off my hols and before I go to York xD.

Anyway, I hope you like this :)

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_31__st__ October 2017_

"Keep still," Hermione admonished, tapping Hugo's hand away from the lycra mask for the fifth time.

"You're hurting my hair!"

Hermione sighed. "Well you're the one who wanted to go as Spiderman," she said as the mask finally slipped into place. "There. Go look at yourself then." Her son bounded off and Hermione took the time to look over her own costume.

When Hugo had suggested they all dress up like superheroes, she'd been happy, when he'd insisted she go as Catwoman she was not so happy. The evening spent as the literal cat woman in her second year would forever haunt her, though she was happy to say, as she looked at her whiskered face, rather adorable cat ears and the skin tight leggings that had come with the costume, she didn't look half bad.

Her doorbell rang, and Hermione raced Hugo to the door, laughing all the way, and opened it to see Ron. He was dressed in blue bottoms, with red underpants over, a blue top with a very obvious S logo, and had completed his ensemble with a red cape.

"Hey," he greeted, "You look nice." It was an awkward comment, but Hermione wasn't about to let this be unpleasant.

"Thanks," she said, smiling brightly, like it was Harry who had complemented her, not her soon-to-be-ex-husband. "So do you. Love the cape."

Ron laughed, and swooped down to pick up his son. It wasn't nearly as easy as it had been some years earlier, but he managed. "Well this one said I had to go as Superman, I had very strict orders."

"Dad!" Hugo shouted around his laughs as his father tickled his side. "Put me down!"

Once back on solid carpet, Hugo looked over his parents. He felt strange, seeing them together, he'd almost gotten used to them being apart, but he couldn't stop the small piece of him that wished they'd just stay together. "We look awesome! We're totally going to beat George this year," he declared.

"Let's hope so," Hermione said, as she collected the crumble she'd made from the kitchen. "I owe your uncle for a rather juvenile trick he played."

Ron couldn't contain his chortles, and Hermione, juggling the crumble, smacked him around the back of the head. "Don't even start," she warned around a smile.

As they left the house, and Hermione let Ron lock up behind them, she thought it could have been as though nothing had happened.

Ron and Hugo were talking about some Quidditch game they'd listened to the other day, and Hermione simply enjoyed the late autumn sunshine. It wasn't warm by any means, but she still turned her face into the sun as they wandered to the apparition point. All her visitors complained about having to walk three streets away, but she had yet to adjust her wards to allow only certain people in an out, and frankly, she hadn't decided who she wanted to have that privilege yet.

"We all ready?" Ron asked, holding his arm out for Hermione to take. After making sure Hugo was holding on tight to his dad's other side she nodded. They'd just started to disapparate when a photographer's flash almost blinded them.

They were still blinking as they landed in the field just outside the Burrow. Hugo was off running already, leaving the grown-ups to carry the crumble and his bags – he was stopping the night with the other Weasley grandchildren.

"Who do you suppose that was?" Ron asked.

"Probably one of Skeeter's paps; if not the woman herself. Merlin, you can just see the headline…"

"Something along the lines of; 'Putting on a show of happy families? But where's the mysterious Malfoy heir?'" Ron quipped, a small smile on his face.

"We're going to have to do something about this. We may not be celebrities like the Weird Sisters, or Merlin's descendants, but we are in the public eye."

Ron frowned. "What do you suggest? Doing an exclusive for the Prophet?"

"Heavens, no!" Hermione hadn't trusted that paper since her fourth year at Hogwarts. "Witch Weekly, maybe? I don't read it, but it's bound to get around that way."

"But, only gossipy women read that rag, and I'm including my mother in that, whatever we say would be spun out of proportion in barely an hour."

Hermione was quiet a moment. "The Quibbler then, Xenophilius does still owe us."

Ron sighed just as they reached the warded gate of his family home. "Yes, but that means actually dealing with Lovegood."

Hermione tried to hold in her laugh. Ron had never really gotten over Xenophilius' betrayal of them to the Death Eaters; no matter how often Hermione had explained he'd done it to save his daughter.

She headed straight into the kitchen with her crumble, setting it on the side as she greeted Molly. Her words the other day had hurt, but Hermione wasn't about to let anything fester between them.

"I made a rhubarb crumble," Hermione said smiling. "It just needs heating up, but shouldn't take long."

Molly looked at the crumble and frowned. "Rhubarb's not out this time of year," she commented.

"No, but I had some frozen."

Mrs Weasley sniffed. "I don't particularly like rhubarb," she said before walking off to greet Hugo with an enormous hug.

"Don't mind her, 'Mione," Ron said, coming up behind Hermione and rubbing her back. Hermione stepped away, and they shared an awkward smile. It was a natural reaction, for him to comfort her, but it wasn't really something they could be doing anymore.

Ron left to see who else had arrived, and Hermione was left alone in the Weasley's kitchen. It had been the hub of so much during their lives, Hermione remembered every single summer she'd spent in Ginny's room; all the fights with Ron up and down the stairs, and running for her life during the war. She remembered how Molly had held her, so often taking the place of her own mother, and how she would make her ginger biscuits, simply to cheer her up. She remembered talking about baby names around the large table, and how, when she'd gone into labour, it had been Molly who she had relied on. She only hoped that, just because she wouldn't bear the Weasley name any longer, that didn't mean she couldn't be an honorary one, like she had been before.

"You're here!" Angelina exclaimed, coming towards her in a very muggle get up. She wore a tight white top under a tutu and white wings coming out of her back, with a plastic wand in her hand. "I'm a fairy," she said in explanation as Hermione looked her friend up and down. "Come get a drink, and save me from Fleur."

Angelina poured Hermione a glass of elderflower wine from an earthen-wear jug sitting on the side. "I see your child decided what you wore, too?"

Hermione sighed, but smiled. "I'm Catwoman."

"Well you look hot."

Hermione laughed and took a drink of her wine. "Thanks," she said, unsure what else to do.

"Come on. It's not too cold out, and Arthur's got a warming charm over some seats."

Hermione followed her friend out into the garden, greeting people as she went. She saw George and avoided the foot he stuck out to try and trip her, sticking out her tongue in retort. Once seated, Angelina asked her how things had been, and she was honest. Things had been good. For the first time in what felt like a long while she could see the end to things, she could see everyone being happy.

Hermione was about to ask Angelina about her own life, when Fleur came floating over to sit beside her.

"Hi," Hermione greeted. Then, after watching the rather heavily pregnant Fleur try to lower herself into her chair she asked, "Are you okay?"

"_Oui, oui_," Fleur said, waving a hand to dispel their concern. "You, 'ow are you? I can't imagine 'ow you must feel."

Hermione smiled, one she had perfected in the face of people's pity. "I'm fine. We're all fine."

"Well you might be, but Ron is not. And I mean, showing you face 'ere. Surely, Molly is not 'appy?"

Unsure of what to say, Hermione was glad of Angelina sitting beside her. "Molly can lump it 'cause Hermione's part of this family and always will be. She's Hugo's mum, and frankly has been here a lot longer than some of us."

Fleur sniffed, obviously affronted and stood with the excuse to find her husband. "Don't take it as anything, you know what Fleur's like."

Hermione waved off her friends concern. "Of course I do. It's okay," she smiled and thought of Rose. "I wonder how our children are enjoying their Halloween."

* * *

There had been posters about the event for weeks, but Rose was not looking forward to the Halloween party the professors had decided to throw. She'd gotten a letter from each of her parents over the last couple of weeks, telling her how they would be officially signing their divorce papers on the third of November. Frankly, she couldn't believe this was happening.

"What are you moping about now?" Scorpius asked, slamming down into an adjacent armchair in the Slytherin common room.

"Nothing," she muttered.

Scorpius rolled his eyes. "Fine, if you don't want to tell me."

Rose sighed. They'd started to get along better, since finding out they were brother and sister. He'd apologised for what he'd called her, without his father watching over him, and had seemed to take it upon him to look after her. Some of the older students had some rather unpleasant things to say; about a Weasley being in Slytherin, about her mum and other things, but he'd always leapt to her defence; not that she'd really needed his help.

"How did you feel, when your parents got divorced?" she finally asked.

Scorpius frowned. "You won't like my answer."

"Go on."

He shrugged. "I was happy."

"Happy? Why would you be happy about that?"

"The thing is my mum and dad hadn't really spoken in ages. They thought I didn't notice how they only talked to each other around me. How they never kissed each other or held hands like my friends parent's did. It was as though they only stayed together for me, but then the summer leading up to me coming here, Dad just…stopped pretending."

Rose frowned. "So you're happy they won't be together anymore?"

"Of course. They weren't happy together, and it doesn't really have anything to do with me."

She thought it was a very grown-up thing to say, and she wished she could be so level headed about her own parent's divorce. "You didn't see this coming then?" Scorpius said.

"No! They were…" But then she stopped. They were her parents, they were a constant in her life that she never questioned, but now she thought about it, comparing her parents to Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry, or to Uncle George and Aunty Angelina, she realised they weren't the same. "At least I thought…" They never held hands, and she'd never caught them kissing. Never had the awkward moments Albus had talked about. But that was normal, wasn't it. Just because they weren't public with their affection, didn't make them wrong, did it?

"Rose," Scorpius turned, leaning over the arm of his chair and looking right into her eyes. "If they don't hold hands, or touch each other, flirt, then this has been coming a long time." He was quiet a moment, as though to make sure she was listening. "This isn't your fault."

Rose scoffed and turned away. "Well of course it isn't, I'm not saying it is."

"No, but you're thinking it. This all happened after Grandpa died and they all found out that you're a Malfoy, not a Weasley. It's a logical step to blame you."

"So you're saying I should blame myself?!"

Scorpius groaned and dropped back heavily into the seat. Just then Albus joined them, sitting on the floor between them, and frowning at Scorpius' reaction. "What's up?" he asked.

"Oh just our lovely Rose here being stupid," Scorpius quipped.

"I'm not being stupid," she cried. She felt on the verge of tears. This was a silly conversation to have started and she wished she could take it all back.

"Are you going to the party?" Albus asked, trying to ease the tension.

Scorpius loped back in his chair, a pompous look on his face that his father would be proud of. "Hardly."

"Me neither."

Albus nodded. "So what are we doing then?" If his two best friends weren't going, then he wasn't either.

"Peeves?" Scorpius suggested, after a moment's pause.

"Isn't he still hacked off with us for stealing his dung bombs?"

The young Malfoy shrugged. "Who cares? Hey," he turned to Albus, "didn't you say you once heard your dad on about some secret tunnels out of this place?"

Albus nodded. It had been over the summer, on one of the many days when his mum and dad, Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione had been recounting some of their own Hogwarts days with the rest of his Aunts and Uncles, and there'd been mention of a secret map and some of the tunnels his Uncle George and Fred had found.

"They mentioned something about a one-eyed witch. But I'm pretty sure all the tunnels were sealed off during the war," he added, seeing the bright eyed look in both his friends eyes.

"My mum reckoned they'd been opened back up," Rose said, already on her feet.

"Only one way to find out," Scorpius said, grabbing Albus by the arm. The three left laughing from the common room, sure they were going to have a very good Halloween.

* * *

_Let me know what you think :)_


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